FOURTH    OF   JULY   AT    THE   DEN  Page    141 


A  Busy  Year  at  the 
Old  Squire's 


BY 

C.  A.  STEPHENS 


PUBLISHED    BY 

THE   YOUTH'S    COMPANION 

BOSTON,  MASS. 


Copyright,  1922 
BY  C.  A.  STEPHENS 

All  rights  reserved 


PRINTED  BY  C.  H.  SIMONDS  COMPANY 
BOSTON,  MASS.,  U.  S.  A. 


DEDICATED 

WITH   CORDIAL  BEST 

WISHES    TO    THE     MANY 

•Readers  of  tbe  IJoutb's  Companion 

WHO   HAVE   SO   KINDLY  REMEMBERED 

US   AT  THE  OLD   SQUIRE'S 

FARM 


5064  i  o 


Contents 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.   MASTER  PIERSON  COMES  BACK      ....  i 

II.   CUTTING  ICE  AT  14°  BELOW  ZERO         ...  9 

III.  A  BEAR'S  "PIPE"  IN  WINTER  18 

IV.  WHITE  MONKEY  WEEK 25 

V.   WHEN  OLD  ZACK  WENT  TO  SCHOOL     ...  35 

VI.   THE  SAD  ABUSE  OF  OLD  MEHITABLE     ...  44 

VII.   BEAR-TONE 51 

VIII.   WHEN  WE  HUNTED  THE  STRIPED  CATAMOUNT  60 

IX.   THE  LOST  OXEN 67 

X.   BETHESDA 76 

XI.   WHEN  WE  WALKED  THE  TOWN  LINES      .       .  84 

XII.  THE  ROSE-QUARTZ  SPRING 93 

XIII.  Fox-  PILLS 99 

XIV.  THE  UNPARDONABLE  SIN 113 

XV.   THE  CANTALOUPE  COAXER 120 

XVI.   THE  STRANGE  DISAPPEARANCE  OF  GRANDPA  ED- 
WARDS           128 

XVII.  OUR  FOURTH  OF  JULY  AT  THE  DEN      .       .       .138 

XVIII.   JIM  DOANE'S  BANK  BOOK 146 

XIX.   GRANDMOTHER  RUTH'S  LAST  LOAD  OF  HAY      .  155 

XX.   WHEN  UNCLE  HANNIBAL  SPOKE  AT  THE  CHAPEL  162 

XXI.   THAT  MYSTERIOUS  DAGUERREOTYPE  SALOON      .  171 

XXII.   "RAINBOW  IN  THE  MORNING"       .       .       .       .179 

XXIII.  WHEN  I  WENT  AFTER  THE  EYESTONE  .       .       .  187 

XXIV.  BORROWED  FOR  A  BEE  HUNT 195 

XXV.   WHEN  THE  LION  ROARED 203 

XXVI.   UNCLE  SOLON  CHASE  COMES  ALONG     .       .       .  212 

XXVII.   ON  THE  DARK  OF  THE  MOON 220 

XXVIII.   HALSTEAD'S  GOBBLER 228 

XXIX.   MITCHELLA   JARS 233 

XXX.   WHEN  BEARS  WERE  DENNING  UP       .       .       .  241 

XXXI.    CZAR  BRENCH 249 

XXXII.   WHEN  OLD  PEG  LED  THE  FLOCK     .       .       .       .257 

XXXIII.  WITCHES'  BROOMS 267 

XXXIV.  THE  LITTLE  IMAGE  PEDDLERS         .       .       .       .277 
XXXV.   A  JANUARY  THAW 284 

XXXVI.   UNCLE  BILLY  MURCH'S  HAIR-RAISER    .       .       .  298 

XXXVII.  ADDISON'S  POCKETFUL  OF  AUGER  CHIPS      .      .  305 


A  Busy  Year  at  the 
Old  Squire's 


CHAPTER    I 

MASTER    PIERSON    COMES    BACK 

MASTER  JOEL  PIERSON  arrived  the  follow- 
ing- Sunday  afternoon,  as  he  had  promised  in 
his  letter  of  Thanksgiving  Day  eve,  and  took 
up  his  abode  with  us  at  the  old  Squire's  for  the  winter 
term  of  school. 

Cousin  Addison  drove  to  the  village  with  horse  and 
pung  to  fetch  him;  and  the  pung,  I  remember,  was 
rilled  with  the  master's  belongings,  including  his  school 
melodeon,  books  and  seven  large  wall  maps  for  teach- 
ing geography.  For  Master  Pierson  brought  a  com- 
plete outfit,  even  to  the  stack  of  school  song-books 
which  later  were  piled  on  the  top  of  the  melodeon  that 
stood  in  front  of  the  teacher's  desk  at  the  schoolhouse. 
Every  space  between  the  windows  was  covered  by 
those  wall  maps.  No  other  teacher  had  ever  made  the 
old  schoolhouse  so  attractive.  No  other  teacher  had 
ever  entered  on  the  task  of  giving  us  instruction  with 
such  zeal  and  such  enthusiasm.  It  was  a  zeal,  too, 
and  an  enthusiasm  which  embraced  every  pupil  in  the 
room  and  stopped  at  nothing  short  of  enlisting  that 
pupil's  best  efforts  to  learn. 

Master  Pierson  put  life  and  hard  work  into  every- 
thing that  went  on  at  school — even  into  the  old  school- 

l 


2     A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

house  itself.  Every  morning  he  would  be  off  from  the 
old  Squire's  at  eight  o'clock,  to  see  that  the  school- 
house  was  well  warmed  and  ready  to  begin  lessons  at 
nine;  and  if  there  had  been  any  neglect  in  sweeping  or 
dusting,  he  would  do  it  himself,  and  have  every  desk 
and  bench  clean  and  tidy  before  school  time. 

What  was  more,  Master  Pierson  possessed  the  rare 
faculty  of  communicating  his  own  zeal  for  learning  to 
his  pupils.  We  became  so  interested,  as  weeks  passed, 
that  of  our  own  accord  we  brought  our  school  books 
home  with  us  at  night,  in  order  to  study  evenings ;  and 
we  asked  for  longer  lessons  that  we  might  progress 
faster. 

My  cousin  Halstead  was  one  of  those  boys  (and 
their  name  is  Legion)  who  dislike  study  and  complain 
of  their  lessons  that  they  are  too  long  and  too  hard.' 
But  strange  to  say,  Master  Joel  Pierson  somehow  led 
Halse  to  really  like  geography  that  winter.  Those 
large  wall  maps  in  color  were  of  great  assistance  to  us 
all.  In  class  we  took  turns  going  to  them  with  a  long 
pointer,  to  recite  the  lesson  of  the  day.  I  remember 
just  how  the  different  countries  looked  and  how  they 
were  bounded — though  many  of  these  boundaries  are 
now,  of  course,  considerably  changed. 

When  lessons  dragged  and  dullness  settled  on  the 
room,  Master  Joel  was  wont  to  cry,  "  Halt !  "  then  sit 
down  at  the  melodeon  and  play  some  school  song  as 
lively  as  the  instrument  admitted  of,  and  set  us  all 
singing  for  five  or  ten  minutes,  chanting  the  multi- 
plication tables,  the  names  of  the  states,  the  largest 
cities  of  the  country,  or  even  the  Books  of  the  Bible. 
At  other  times  he  would  throw  open  the  windows  and 
set  us  shouting  Patrick  Henry's  speech,  or  Byron's 
Apostrophe  to  the  Ocean.  In  short,  "  old  Joel  "  was 
what  now  would  be  called  a  "  live  wire."  He  was 
twenty-two  then  and  a  student  working  his  own  way 
through  Bates  College.  After  graduating  he  migrated 
to  a  far  western  state  where  he  taught  for  a  year  or 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     3 

two,  became  supervisor  of  schools,  then  State  Superin- 
tendent, and  afterwards  a  Representative  to  Congress. 
He  is  an  aged  man  now  and  no  word  of  mine  can  add 
much  to  the  honors  which  have  worthily  crowned  his 
life.  None  the  less  I  want  to  pay  this  tribute  to  him — 
even  if  he  did  rub  my  ears  at  times  and  cry,  "  Wake  up, 
Round-head !  Wake  up  and  find  out  what  you  are  in 
this  world  for."  (More  rubs!)  "You  don't  seem  to 
know  yet.  Wake  up  and  find  out  about  it.  We  have 
all  come  into  the  world  to  do  something.  Wake  up 
and  find  out  what  you  are  here  for !  " — and  then  more 
rubs ! 

It  wasn't  his  fault  if  I  never  fairly  waked  up  to  my 
vocation — if  I  really  had  one.  For  the  life  of  me  I 
could  never  feel  sure  what  I  was  for !  Cousin  Addison 
seemed  to  know  just  what  he  was  going  to  do,  from 
earliest  boyhood,  and  went  straight  to  it.  Much  the 
same  way,  cousin  Theodora's  warm,  generous  heart 
led  her  directly  to  that  labor  of  love  which  she  has  so 
faithfully  performed.  As  for  Halstead,  he  was  per- 
fectly sure,  cock-sure,  more  than  twenty  times,  what  he 
was  going  to  do  in  life;  but  always  in  the  course  of  a 
few  weeks  or  months,  he  discovered  he  was  on  the 
wrong  trail.  What  can  be  said  of  us  who  either  have 
no  vocation  at  all,  or  too  many?  What  are  we  here 
for? 

In  addition  to  our  daily  studies  at  the  schoolhouse, 
we  resumed  Latin,  in  the  old  sitting-room,  evenings, 
Thomas  and  Catherine  Edwards  coming  over  across 
the  field  to  join  us.  To  save  her  carpet,  grandmother 
Ruth  put  down  burlap  to  bear  the  brunt  of  our  many 
restless  feet — for  there  was  a  great  deal  of  trampling 
and  sometimes  outbreaks  of  scuffling  there. 

Thomas  and  I,  who  had  forgotten  much  we  had 
learned  the  previous  winter,  were  still  delving  in 
ZEsop's  Fables.  But  Addison,  Theodora  and  Catherine 
were  going  on  with  the  first  book  of  Csesar's  Gallic 
War.  Ellen,  two  years  younger,  was  still  occupied 


4     A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

wholly  by  her  English  studies.  Study  hours  were 
from  seven  till  ten,  with  interludes  for  apples  and 
pop-corn. 

Halstead,  who  had  now  definitely  abandoned  Latin 
as  something-  which  would  never  do  him  any  good, 
took  up  Comstock's  Natural  Philosophy,  or  made  a 
feint  of  doing  so,  in  order  to  have  something  of  his 
own  that  was  different  from  the  rest  of  us.  ,  Natural 
philosophy,  he  declared,  was  far  and  away  more  im- 
portant than  Latin. 

Memory  goes  back  very  fondly  to  those  evenings  in 
the  old  sitting-room,  they  were  so  illumined  by  great 
hopes  ahead.  Thomas  and  I,  at  a  light-stand  apart 
from  the  others,  were  usually  puzzling  out  a  Fable — 
The  Lion,  The  Oxen,  The  Kid  and  the  Wolf,  The  Fox 
and  the  Lion,  or  some  one  of  a  dozen  others — holding 
noisy  arguments  over  it  till  Master  Pierson  from  the 
large  center  table,  called  out,  "  Less  noise  over  there 
among  those  Latin  infants!  Caesar  is  building  his 
bridge  over  the  Rhine.  You  are  disturbing  him." 

Addison,  always  very  quiet  when  engrossed  in  study, 
scarcely  noticed  or  looked  up,  unless  perhaps  to  aid 
.  Catherine  and  Theodora  for  a  moment,  with  some 
hard  passage.  It  was  Tom  and  I  who  made  Latin 
noisy,  aggravated  at  times  by  pranks  from  Halstead, 
whose  studies  in  natural  philosophy  were  by  no  means 
diligent.  At  intervals  of  assisting  us  with  our  trans- 
lations of  Csesar  and  the  Fables,  Master  Pierson 
himself  was  translating  the  Greek  of  Demosthenes' 
Orations,  and  also  reviewing  his  Livy — to  keep  up 
with  his  Class  at  College.  But,  night  or  day,  he  was 
always  ready  to  help  or  advise  us,  and  push  us  on. 
"  Go  ahead !  "  was  "  old  Joel's  "  motto,  and  "  That's 
what  we're  here  for."  He  appeared  to  be  possessed  by 
a  profound  conviction  that  the  human  race  has  a  great 
destiny  before  it,  and  that  we  ought  all  to  work  hard  to 
hurry  it  up  and  realize  it. 

It  is  quite  wonderful  what  an  influence  for  good  a 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     5 

wide-awake  teacher,  like  Master  Pierson,  can  exert  in 
a  school  of  forty  or  fifty  boys  and  girls  like  ours  in  the 
old  Squire's  district,  particularly  where  many  of  them 
"  don't  know  what  they  are  in  the  world  for,"  and 
have  difficulty  in  deciding  on  a  vocation  in  life. 

At  that  time  there  was  much  being  said  about  a  Uni- 
versal Language.  As  there  are  fifty  or  more  diverse 
languages,  spoken  by  mankind,  to  say  nothing  of  hun- 
dreds of  different  dialects,  and  as  people  now  travel 
freely  to  all  parts  of  the  earth,  the  advantages  of  one 
common  language  for  all  nations  are  apparent  to  all 
who  reflect  on  the  subject.  At  present,  months  and 
years  of  our  short  lives  are  spent  learning  foreign 
languages.  A  complete  education  demands  that  the 
American  whose  mother  tongue  is  the  English,  must 
learn  French,  German,  Spanish  and  Italian,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  more  difficult  languages  of  eastern 
Europe  and  the  Orient.  Otherwise  the  traveler,  with- 
out an  interpreter,  cannot  make  himself  understood, 
and  do  business  outside  his  own  country. 

The  want  of  a  common  means  of  communication 
therefore  has  long  been  recognized;  and  about  that 
time  some  one  had  invented  a  somewhat  imperfect 
method  of  universal  speech,  with  the  idea  of  having 
everybody  learn  it,  and  so  be  able  to  converse  with  the 
inhabitants  of  all  lands  without  the  well-nigh  im- 
possible task  of  learning  five,  or  ten,  or  fifty  different 
languages. 

The  idea  impressed  everybody  as  a  good  one,  and 
enjoyed  a  considerable  popularity  for  a  time.  But 
practically  this  was  soon  found  to  be  a  clumsy  and  in- 
adequate form  of  speech,  also  that  many  other  draw- 
backs attended  its  adoption. 

But  the  main  idea  held  good;  and  since  that  time 
Volapuk,  Bolak,  Esperanto  and  Ido  have  appeared, 
but  without  meeting  with  great  success.  The  same 
disadvantages  attend  them,  each  and  all. 

In  thinking  the  matter  over  and  talking  of  it,  one 


6     A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

night  at  the  old  Squire's,  that  winter,  Master  Pier- 
son  hit  on  the  best,  most  practical  plan  for  a  uni- 
versal language  which  I  have  ever  heard  put  forward. 
"  Latin  is  the  foundation  of  all  the  modern  languages 
of  Christendom/'  he  said.  "  Or  if  not  the  foundation, 
it  enters  largely  into  all  of  them.  Law,  theology, 
medicine  and  philosophy  are  dependent  on  Latin  for 
their  descriptive  terms.  Without  Latin  words,  modern 
science  would  be  a  jargon  which  couldn't  be  taught 
at  all.  Without  Latin,  the  English  language,  itself, 
would  relapse  to  the  crude,  primitive  Saxon  speech  of 
our  ancestors.  No  one  can  claim  to  be  well  educated 
till  he  has  studied  Latin. 

"  Now  as  we  have  need  to  learn  Latin  anyway,  why 
not  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone,  and  make  Latin  our 
universal  language  ?  Why  not  have  a  colloquial,  every- 
day Latin,  such  as  the  Romans  used  to  speak  in  Italy  ? 
In  point  of  fact,  Latin  was  the  universal  language 
with  travelers  and  educated  people  all  through  the 
Middle  Ages.  We  need  to  learn  it  anyhow,  so  why 
not  make  it  our  needed  form  of  common  speech  ?  " 

I  remember  just  how  earnest  old  Joel  became  as  he 
set  forth  this  new  idea  of  his.  He  jumped  up  and 
tore  round  the  old  sitting-room.  He  rubbed  my  ears 
again,  rumpled  Tom's  hair,  caught  Catherine  by  both 
her  hands  and  went  ring-round-the-rosy  with  her, 
nearly  knocking  down  the  table,  lamp  and  all !  "  The 
greatest  idea  yet !  "  he  shouted.  "  Just  what's  wanted 
for  a  Universal.Language !  "  He  went  and  drew  in  the 
old  Squire  to  hear  about  it;  and  the  old  Squire  ad- 
mitted that  it  sounded  reasonable.  "  For  I  can  see," 
he  said,  "  that  it  would  keep  Latin,  and  the  derivation 
of  words  from  it,  fresh  in  our  minds.  It  would 
prove  a  constant  review  of  the  words  from  which  our 
language  has  been  formed. 

"  But  Latin  always  looked  to  me  rather  heavy  and 
perhaps  too  clumsy  for  every-day  talk,"  the  old  gentle- 
man remarked.  "  Think  you  could  talk  it?  " 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     7 

"  Sure!  "  Master  Pierson  cried.  "  The  old  Romans 
spoke  it.  So  can  we.  And  that's  just  what  I  will  do. 
I  will  get  up  a  book  of  conversational  Latin — enough 
to  make  a  Common  Language  for  every-day  use." 
And  in  point  of  fact  that  was  what  old  Joel  was  doing, 
for  four  or  five  weeks  afterwards.  He  had  Theodora 
and  Catherine  copy  out  page  after  page  of  it — as  many 
as  twenty  pages.  He  wanted  us  each  to  have  a  copy 
of  it;  and  for  a  time  at  least,  he  intended  to  have  it 
printed. 

A  few  days  ago  I  came  upon  some  of  those  faded, 
yellow  pages,  folded  up  in  an  old  text  book  of  ^Esop's 
Latin  Fables — the  one  Tom  and  I  were  then  using; 
and  I  will  set  down  a  few  of  the  sentences  here,  to 
illustrate  what  Master  Pierson  thought  might  be  done 
with  Latin  as  a  universal  language. 

Master  Pierson's  Universal  Language  in  Latin, 
which  he  named  Die  from  dico,  meaning  to  speak. 

1  It  is  time  to  get  up.  =  Surgendi  tempus  est. 

2  The  sun  is  up  already.       =  Sol  jamdudum  ortus. 

3  Put  on  your  shoes.  =  Indue  tibi  ocreas. 

4  Comb  your  head.  =  Pecte  caput  tuum. 

5  Light  a  candle  and  build  =  Accende  lucernum,  et  fac 
a  fire.  ut  luceat  faculus. 

6  Carry  the  lantern.     We  =  Vulcanum  in  cornu  geras. 
must  water  the  horses.          Equiaquatum  agenda  sunt. 

7  It  is  a  very  hot  day.         =Dies  est  ingens  aestus. 

8  Let's  go  to  the  barn.         =  Jam  imus  horreum. 

9  Grind  the  axes.  =  Acuste  ascias. 

10  It  is  near  twelve  o'clock.  =  Instat  hora  duodecima. 

11  It  is  time  for  dinner.         =  Prandenti  tempus  adest. 

12  Please  take  dinner  with  =  Quesso    nobiscum    hodie 
us.  sumas  prandiolum. 

13  Make  a  good  fire.  =  Instruas  optimum  focum. 

14  This  chimney  smokes.       —  Male  fumat  hie  caminus. 

15  The  wood  is  green.  —  Viride  est  hoc  lignum. 

16  Fetch  kindling  wood.         =  After  fomitem. 

17  Lay  the  table  cloth.  =  Sterne  mappam. 


8     A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

1 8  Dinner  is  ready.  =  Cibus  est  appositus. 

19  Don't  spoil  it  by  delay.  =  Ne     corrumpatur     mora 

vestra. 

20  Sit  down.  =  Accumbe. 

21  This  is  my  place.  =  Hie  mihi  locus. 

22  Let  him  sit  next  me.         =  Assideat  mihi. 

23  Say  grace,  or  ask  a  bless-  —  Recita  consecrationem. 
ing. 

24  Give  me  brown  bread.       =  Da  mihi  panem  atrum. 

25  I  am  going  to  school.         =  Eo  ad  scholam. 

26  What  time  is  it  ?  —  Quota  est  hora  ? 

27  It  is  past  seven.  =  Prseteriit  hora  septima. 

28  The  bell  has  rung.  =  Sonuit  tintinnabulum. 

29  Go  with  me.  =  Vade  mecum. 

30  The  master  will  soon  be  —  Brevi  prseceptor  aderit. 
here. 

31  I  am  very  cold,  =Valde  frigeo. 

32  My  hands  are  numb.          =  Obtorpent  manus. 

33  Mend  the  fire.  =  Apta  ignem. 

I  have  copied  out  only  a  few  of  the  shorter  sen- 
tences. There  were,  as  I  have  said,  fully  twenty 
pages  of  it,  enough  for  quite  a  respectable  "  Uni- 
versal Language,"  or  at  least  the  beginnings  of  one. 
Perhaps  some  ambitious  linguist  will  yet  take  it  up 
in  earnest. 


CHAPTER  II 

CUTTING  ICE  AT  14°  BELOW  ZERO 

GENERALLY  speaking,  young  folks  are  glad 
when  school  is  done.  But  it  wasn't  so  with  us 
that  winter  in  the  old  Squire's  district,  when 
Master  Pierson  was  teacher.  We  were  really  sad,  in 
fact  quite  melancholy,  and  some  of  the  girls  shed 
tears,  when  the  last  day  of  school  came  and  "  old  Joel  " 
tied  up  the  melodeon,  took  down  the  wall  maps,  packed 
up  his  books  and  went  back  to  his  Class  in  College. 
He  was  sad  himself — he  had  taken  such  interest  in  our 
progress. 

"  Now  don't  forget  what  you  have  learned !  "  he 
exclaimed.  "  Hang  on  to  it.  Knowledge  is  your  best 
friend.  You  must  go  on  with  your  Latin,  evenings." 

"  You  will  surely  come  back  next  winter ! "  we 
shouted  after  him  as  he  drove  away.v 

"  Maybe,"  he  said,  and  would  not  trust  himself  to 
look  back. 

The  old  sitting-room  seemed  wholly  deserted  that 
Friday  night  after  he  went  away.  "  We  are  like  sheep 
without  a  shepherd,"  Theodora  said.  Catherine  and 
Tom  came  over.  We  opened  our  Latin  books  and 
tried  to  study  awhile ;  but  'twas  dreary  without  "  old 
Joel." 

Other  things,  however,  other  duties  and  other  work 
at  the  farm  immediately  occupied  our  attention.  It 
was  now  mid-January  and  there  was  ice  to  be  cut  on 
the  lake  for  our  new  creamery. 

For  three  years  the  old  Squire  had  been  breeding  a 
herd  of  Jerseys.  There  were  sixteen  of  them :  Jersey 
First,  Canary,  Jersey  Second,  Little  Queen,  Beauty, 

9 


10    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

Buttercup,  and  all  the  rest.  Each  one  had  her  own  little 
book  that  hung  from  its  nail  on  a  beam  of  the  tie-up 
behind  her  stall.  In  it  were  recorded  her  pedigree, 
dates,  and  the  number  of  pounds  of  milk  she  gave  at 
each  milking.  The  scales  for  weighing  the  milk  hung 
from  the  same  beam.  We  weighed  each  milking,  and 
jotted  down  the  weight  with  the  pencil  tied  to  each 
little  book.  All  this  was  to  show  which  of  the  herd 
was  most  profitable,  and  which  calves  had  better  be 
kept  for  increase. 

This  was  a  new  departure  in  Maine  farming. 
Cream-separators  were  as  yet  undreamed  of.  A  water- 
creamery  with  long  cans  and  ice  was  then  used  for 
raising  the  cream ;  and  that  meant  an  ice-house  and  the 
cutting  and  hauling  home  of  a  year's  stock  of  ice  from 
the  lake,  nearly  two  miles  distant. 

\Ye  built  a  new  ice-house  near  the  east  barn  in 
November;  and  in  December  the  old  Squire  drove  to 
Portland  and  brought  home  a  complete  kit  of  tools — 
three  ice-saws,  an  ice-plow  or  groover,  ice-tongs, 
hooks,  chisels,  tackle  and  block. 

Everything  had  to  be  bought  new,  but  the  old  Squire 
had  visions  of  great  profits  ahead  from  his  growing 
herd  of  Jerseys.  Grandmother,  however,  was  less 
sanguine. 

It  was  unusually  cold  in  December  that  year,  fre- 
quently ten  degrees  below  zero,  and  there  were  many 
high  winds.  Consequently,  the  ice  on  the  lake  thick- 
ened early  to  twelve  inches,  and  bade  fair  to  go  to  two 
feet  For  use  in  a  water-creamery,  ice  is  most  con- 
veniently cut  and  handled  when  not  more  than  fifteen 
or  sixteen  inches  thick.  That  thickness,  too,  when  the 
cakes  are  cut  twenty-six  inches  square,  as  usual,  makes 
them  quite  heavy  enough  for  hoisting  and  packing  in 
an  ice-house. 

Half  a  mile  from  the  head  of  the  lake,  over  deep, 
clear  water,  we  had  been  scraping  and  sweeping  a 
large  surface  after  every  snow,  in  order  to  have  clear 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     11 

ice.  Two  or  three  times  a  week  Addison  ran  down 
and  tested  the  thickness;  and  when  it  reached  fifteen 
inches,  we  bestirred  ourselves  at  our  new  work. 

None  of  us  knew  much  about  cutting  ice;  but  we 
laid  off  a  straight  base-line  of  a  hundred  feet,  hitched 
old  Sol  to  the  new  groover,  and  marked  off  five  hun- 
dred cakes.  Addison  and  I  then  set  to  work  with  two 
of  our  new  ice-saws,  and  hauled  out  the  cakes  with  the 
ice-tongs,  while  Halstead  and  the  old  Squire  loaded 
them  on  the  long  horse-sled, — sixteen  cakes  to  the 
load, — drew  the  ice  home,  and  packed  it  away  in  the 
new  ice-house. 

Although  at  first  the  sawing  seemed  easy,  we  soon 
found  it  tiresome,  and  learned  that  two  hundred  cakes 
a  day  meant  a  hard  day's  work,  particularly  after  the 
saws  lost  their  keen  edge — for  even  ice  will  dull  a  saw 
in  a  day  or  two.  We  had  also  to  be  pretty  careful,  for 
it  was  over  deep  black  water,  and  a  cake  when  nearly 
sawed  across  is  likely  to  break  off  suddenly  under- 
foot. 

Hauling  out  the  cakes  with  tongs,  too,  is  somewhat 
hazardous  on  a  slippery  ice  margin.  We  beveled  off  a 
kind  of  inclined  "  slip  "  at  one  end  of  the  open  water, 
and  cut  heel  holes  in  the  ice  beside  it,  so  that  we  might 
stand  more  securely  as  we  pulled  the  cakes  out  of  the 
water. 

For  those  first  few  days  we  had  bright,  calm  weather, 
not  very  cold ;  we  got  out  five  hundred  cakes  and  drew 
them  home  to  the  ice-house  without  accident. 

The  hardship  came  the  next  week,  when  several  of 
our  neighbors — who  always  kept  an  eye  on  the  old 
Squire's  farming,  and  liked  to  follow  his  lead — were 
beset  by  an  ambition  to  start  ice-houses.  None  of 
them  had  either  experience  or  tools.  They  wanted  us 
to  cut  the  ice  for  them. 

We  thought  that  was  asking  rather  too  much. 
Thereupon  fourteen  or  fifteen  of  them  offered  us  two 
cents  a  cake  to  cut  a  year's  supply  for  each  of  them. 


12    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

Now  no  one  will  ever  get  very  rich  cutting  ice,  six- 
teen inches  thick,  at  two  cents  a  cake.  But  Addison 
and  I  thought  it  over,  and  asked  the  old  Squire's 
opinion.  He  said  that  we  might  take  the  new  kit,  and 
have  all  we  could  make. 

On  that,  we  notified  them  all  to  come  and  begin 
drawing  home  their  cakes  the  following  Monday 
morning,  for  the  ice  was  growing  thicker  all  the  while ; 
and  the  thicker  it  got,  the  harder  our  work  would  be. 

They  wanted  about  four  thousand  cakes ;  and  as  we 
would  need  help,  we  took  in  Thomas  Edwards  and 
Willis  Murch  as  partners.  Both  were  good  workers, 
and  we  anticipated  having  a  rather  fine  time  at  the 
lake. 

In  the  woods  on  the  west  shore,  nearly  opposite 
where  the  ice  was  to  be  cut,  there  was  an  old  "  shook  " 
camp,  where  we  kept  our  food  and  slept  at  night,  in 
order  to  avoid  the  long  walk  home  to  meals. 

On  Sunday  it  snowed,  and  cleared  off  cold  and 
windy  again.  It  was  eight  degrees  below  zero  on 
Monday  morning,  when  we  took  our  outfit  and  went 
to  work.  Everything  was  frozen  hard  as  a  rock.  The 
wind,  sweeping  down  the  lake,  drove  the  fine,  loose 
snow  before  it  like  smoke  from  a  forest  fire.  There 
was  no  shelter.  We  had  to  stand  out  and  saw  ice  in  the 
bitter  wind,  which  seemed  to  pierce  to  the  very  marrow 
of  our  bones.  It  was  impossible  to  keep  a  fire;  and  it 
always  seems  colder  when  you  are  standing  on  ice. 

It  makes  me  shiver  now  to  think  of  that  week,  for 
it  grew  colder  instead  of  warmer.  A  veritable  "  cold 
snap  "  set  in,  and  never  for  an  hour,  night  or  day,  did 
that  bitter  wind  let  up. 

We  would  have  quit  work  and  waited  for  calmer 
weather, — the  old  Squire  advised  us  to  do  so, — but  the 
ice  was  getting  thicker  every  day.  Every  inch  added 
to  the  thickness  made  the  work  of  sawing  harder — 
at  two  cents  a  cake.  So  we  stuck  to  it,  and  worked 
away  in  that  cruel  wind. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     13 

-  On  Thursday  it  got  so  cold  that  if  we  stopped  the 
saws  even  for  two  seconds,  they  froze  in  hard  and  fast, 
and  had  to  be  cut  out  with  an  ax ;  thus  two  cakes  would 
be  spoiled.  It  was  not  easy  to  keep  the  saws  going  fast 
enough  not  to  catch  and  freeze  in ;  and  the  cakes  had  to 
be  hauled  out  the  moment  they  were  sawed,  or  they 
would  freeze  on  again.  Moreover,  the  patch  of  open 
water  that  we  uncovered  froze  over  in  a  few  minutes, 
and  had  to  be  cleared  a  dozen  times  a  day.  During 
those  nights  it  froze  five  inches  thick,  and  filled  with 
snow-drift,  all  of  which  had  to  be  cleared  out  every 
morning. 

Although  we  had  our  caps  pulled  down  over  our 
ears  and  heavy  mittens  on,  and  wore  all  the  clothes  we 
could  possibly  work  in,  it  yet  seemed  at  times  that 
freeze  we  must — especially  toward  night,  when  we 
grew  tired  from  the  hard  work  of  sawing  so  long  and 
so  fast.  We  became  so  chilled  that  we  could  hardly 
speak ;  and  at  sunset,  when  we  stopped  work,  we  could 
hardly  get  across  to  the  camp.  The  farmers,  who  were 
coming  twice  a  day  with  their  teams  for  ice,  com- 
plained constantly  of  the  cold;  several  of  them  stopped 
drawing  altogether  for  the  time.  Willis  also  stopped 
work  on  Thursday  at  noon. 

The  people  at  home  knew  that  we  were  having  a 
hard  time.  Grandmother  and  the  girls  did  all  they 
could  for  us ;  and  every  day  at  noon  and  again  at  night 
the  old  Squire,  bundled  up  in  his  buffalo-skin  coat, 
drove  down  to  the  lake  with  horse  and  pung,  and 
brought  us  a  warm  meal,  packed  in  a  large  box  with 
half  a  dozen  hot  bricks. 

Only  one  who  has  been  chilled  through  all  day  can 
imagine  how  glad  we  were  to  reach  that  warm  camp  at 
night.  Indeed,  except  for  the  camp,  we  could  never 
have  worked  there  as  we  did.  It  was  a  log  camp,  or 
rather  two  camps,  placed  end  to  end,  and  you  went 
through  the  first  in  order  to  get  into  the  second,  which 
had  no  outside  door.  The  second  camp  had  been  built 


14    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

especially  for  cold  weather.  It  was  low,  and  the  chinks 
between  the  logs  were  tamped  with  moss.  At  this 
time,  too,  snow  lay  on  it,  and  had  banked  up  against 
the  walls.  Inside  the  camp,  across  one  end,  there  was 
a  long  bunk;  at  the  opposite  end  stood  an  old  cook- 
ing-stove, that  seemed  much  too  large  for  so  small  a 
camp. 

At  dusk  we  dropped  work,  made  for  the  camp,  shut 
all  the  doors,  built  the  hottest  fire  we  could  make,  and 
thawed  ourselves  out.  It  seemed  as  though  we  could 
never  get  warmed  through.  For  an  hour  or  more  we 
hovered  about  the  stove.  The  camp  was  as  hot  as  an 
oven ;  I  have  no  doubt  that  we  kept  the  temperature  at 
1 10°  ;  and  yet  we  were  not  warm. 

"  Put  in  more  wood !  "  Addison  or  Thomas  would 
exclaim.  "  Cram  that  stove  full  again !  Let's  get 
warm !  " 

We  thought  so  little  of  ventilation  that  we  shut  the 
camp  door  tight  and  stopped  every  aperture  that  we 
could  find.  We  needed  heat  to  counteract  the  effect  of 
those  long  hours  of  cold  and  wind. 

By  the  time  we  had  eaten  our  supper  and  thawed 
out,  we  grew  sleepy,  and  under  all  our  bedclothing, 
curled  up  in  the  bunk.  So  fearful  were  we  lest  the 
fire  should  go  out  in  the  night  that  we  gathered  a 
huge  heap  of  fuel,  and  we  all  agreed  to  get  up  and 
stuff  the  stove  whenever  we  waked  and  found  the  fire 
abating. 

Among  the  neighbors  for  whom  we  were  cutting  ice 
was  Rufus  Sylvester.  He  was  not  a  very  careful  or 
prosperous  farmer,  and  not  likely  to  be  successful  at 
dairying.  But  because  the  old  Squire  and  others  were 
embarking  in  that  business,  Rufus  wished  to  do  so, 
too.  He  had  no  ice-house,  but  thought  he  could  keep 
ice  buried  in  sawdust,  in  the  shade  of  a  large  apple- 
tree  near  his  barn ;  and  I  may  add  here  that  he  tried  it 
with  indifferent  success  for  three  years,  and  that  it 
killed  the  apple-tree. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    15 

On  Saturday  of  that  cold  week  he  came  to  the  lake 
with  his  lame  old  horse  and  a  rickety  sled,  and  wanted 
us  to  cut  a  hundred  cakes  of  ice  for  him.  The  prospect 
of  our  getting  our  pay  was  poor.  Saturday,  moreover, 
was  the  coldest,  windiest  day  of  the  whole  week;  the 
temperature  was  down  to  fourteen  degrees  below. 

Halse  and  Thomas  said  no ;  but  he  hung  round,  and 
teased  us,  while  his  half -starved  old  horse  shivered  in 
the  wind;  and  we  finally  decided  to  oblige  him,  if  he 
would  take  the  tongs  and  haul  out  the  cakes  himself, 
as  we  sawed  them.  It  would  not  do  to  stop  the  saws 
that  day,  even  for  a  moment. 

Rufus  had  on  an  old  blue  army  overcoat,  the  cape 
of  which  was  turned  up  over  his  head  and  ears,  and  a 
red  woolen  "  comforter  "  round  his  neck.  He  wore 
long-legged,  stiff  cowhide  boots,  with  his  trousers 
tucked  into  the  tops. 

Addison,  Thomas  and  I  were  sawing,  with  our 
backs  turned  to  Rufus  and  to  the  wind,  and  Rufus  was 
trying  to  haul  out  a  cake  of  ice,  when  we  heard  a 
clatter  and  a  muffled  shout.  Rufus  had  slipped  in! 
We  looked  round  just  in  time  to  see  him  go  down  into 
that  black,  icy  water. 

Addison  let  go  the  saw  and  sprang  for  one  of  the 
ice-hooks.  I  did  the  same.  The  hook  I  grabbed  was 
frozen  down;  but  Addison  got  his  free,  and  stuck  it 
into  Rufus's  blue  overcoat.  It  tore  out,  and  down 
Rufus  went  again,  head  and  ears  under.  His  head,  in 
fact,  slid  beneath  the  edge  of  the  ice,  but  his  back 
popped  up. 

Addison  struck  again  with  the  hook — struck  harder. 
He  hooked  it  through  all  Rufus's  clothes,  and  took  a 
piece  of  his  skin.  It  held  that  time,  and  we  hauled 
him  out. 

He  lay  quite  inert  on  the  ice,  choking  and  coughing. 

"  Get  up !  Get  up !  "  we  shouted  to  him.  "  Get  up 
and  run,  or  you'll  freeze !  " 

He  tried  to  rise,  but  failed  to  regain  his  feet,  and 


16    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

collapsed.  Thereupon  Addison  and  Thomas  laid  hold 
of  him,  and  lifted  him  to  his  feet  by  main  strength. 

"  Now  run !  "  they  cried.  "  Run  before  your  clothes 
freeze  stiff!"  The  man  seemed  lethargic — I  suppose 
from  the  deadly  chill.  He  made  an  effort  to  move  his 
feet,  as  they  bade  him,  but  fell  flat  again ;  and  by  that 
time  his  clothes  were  stiffening. 

"  He  will  freeze  to  death !  "  Addison  cried.  "  We 
must  put  him  on  his  sled  and  get  him  home !  " 

Thereupon  we  picked  him  up  like  a  log  of  wood,  and 
laid  him  on  his  horse-sled. 

"  But  he  will  freeze  before  we  can  get  this  old  lame 
horse  home  with  him !  "  exclaimed  Thomas.  "  Better 
take  him  to  our  camp  over  there." 

Addison  thought  so,  too,  and  seizing  the  reins  and 
whip,  started  for  the  shore.  The  old  horse  was  so 
chilled  that  we  could  hardly  get  him  to  hobble ;  but  we 
did  not  spare  the  whip. 

From  the  shore  we  had  still  fifteen  or  twenty  rods 
to  go,  in  order  to  reach  the  camp  back  in  the  woods. 
Rufus's  clothes  were  frozen  as  stiff  as  boards;  ap- 
parently he  could  not  move.  We  feared  that  the  man 
would  die  on  our  hands. 

We  snatched  off  one  of  the  side  boards  of  his  sled, 
laid  him  on  it,  and,  taking  it  up  like  a  stretcher,  started 
to  carry  him  up  through  the  woods  to  the  camp. 

By  that  time  his  long  overcoat  and  all  the  rest  of  his 
clothes  were  frozen  so  stiff  and  hard  that  he  rolled 
round  more  like  a  log  than  a  human  body. 

The  path  was  rough  and  snowy.  In  our  haste  we 
stumbled,  and  dropped  him  several  times,  but  we  rolled 
him  on  the  board  again,  rushed  on,  and  at  last  got  him 
inside  the  camp.  Our  morning  fire  had  gone  out. 
Halse  kindled  it  again,  while  Addison,  Thomas  and  I 
tried  to  get  off  the  frozen  overcoat  and  long  cowhide 
boots. 

The  coat  was  simply  a  sheet  of  ice;  we  could  do 
nothing  with  it.  At  last  we  took  our  knives  and  cut  it 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     17 

down  the  back,  and  after  cutting  open  both  sleeves, 
managed  to  peel  it  off.  We  had  to  cut  open  his  boots 
in  the  same  way.  His  under-coat  and  all  his  clothes 
were  frozen.  There  appeared  to  be  little  warmth  left 
in  him ;  he  was  speechless. 

But  just  then  we  heard  some  one  coming  in  through 
the  outside  camp.  It  was  the  old  Squire. 

Our  farmhouse,  on  the  higher  ground  to  the  north- 
west, afforded  a  view  of  the  lake;  and  the  old  gentle- 
man had  been  keeping  an  eye  on  what  went  on  down 
there,  for  he  was  quite  far-sighted.  He  saw  Sylvester 
arrive  with  his  team,  and  a  few  minutes  later  saw  us 
start  for  the  shore,  lashing  the  horse.  He  knew  that 
something  had  gone  wrong,  and  hitching  up  old  Sol, 
he  had  driven  down  in  haste. 

"  Hot  water,  quick !  "  he  said.  "  Make  some  hot 
coffee !  "  And  seizing  a  towel,  he  gave  Sylvester  such 
a  rubbing  as  it  is  safe  to  say  he  had  never  undergone 
before. 

Gradually  signs  of  life  and  color  appeared.  The 
man  began  to  speak,  although  rather  thickly. 

By  this  time  the  little  camp  was  like  an  oven ;  but  the 
old  Squire  kept  up  the  friction.  We  gave  Rufus  two 
or  three  cups  of  hot  coffee,  and  in  the  course  of  an 
hour  he  was  quite  himself  again. 

We  kept  him  at  the  camp  until  the  afternoon,  how- 
ever, and  then  started  him  home,  wrapped  in  a  horse- 
blanket  instead  of  his  army  overcoat.  He  was  none 
the  worse  for  his  misadventure,  although  he  declared 
we  tore  off  two  inches  of  his  skin ! 

On  Sunday  the  weather  began  to  moderate,  and  the 
last  four  days  of  our  ice-cutting  were  much  more  com- 
fortable. It  had  been  a  severe  ordeal,  however;  the 
eighty-one  dollars  that  we  collected  for  it  were  but 
scanty  recompense  for  the  misery  we  had  endured. 


CHAPTER    III 
A  BEAR'S  "  PIPE  "  IN  WINTER 

FTER  ice-cutting  came  wood-cutting.  It  was  now 
the  latter  part  of  January  with  weather  still  un- 
usually cold.  There  were  about  three  feet  of 
snow  on  the  ground,  crusted  over  from  a  thaw  which 
had  occurred  during  the  first  of  the  month.  In  those 
days  we  burned  from  forty  to  fifty  cords  of  wood  in 
a  year. 

There  was  a  wood-lot  of  a  hundred  acres  along  the 
brook  on  the  east  side  of  the  farm,  and  other  forest 
lots  to  the  north  of  it.  Only  the  best  old-growth 
maple,  birch  and  beech  were  cut  for  fuel — great  trees 
two  and  three  feet  in  diameter. 

The  trunks  were  cut  into  eight-foot  lengths,  rolled 
on  the  ox-sleds  with  levers,  and  then  hauled  home  to 
the  yard  in  front  of  the  wood-house,  where  they  lay  in 
four  huge  piles  till  March,  when  all  hands  turned  to, 
with  axes  and  saws,  and  worked  it  up. 

It  was  zero  weather  that  week,  but  bright  and  clear, 
with  spicules  of  frost  glistening  on  every  twig;  and  I 
recollect  how  sharply  the  tree  trunks  snapped — those 
frost  snaps  which  make  "  shaky  "  lumber  in  Maine. 

Addison,  Halstead  and  I,  with  one  of  the  old 
Squire's  hired  men,  Asa  Doane,  went  to  the  wood-lot 
at  eight  o'clock  that  morning  and  chopped  smartly  till 
near  eleven.  Indeed,  we  were  obliged  to  work  fast  to 
keep  warm. 

Addison  and  I  then  stuck  our  axes  in  a  log  and  went 
on  the  snow  crust  up  to  the  foot  of  a  mountain,  about 
half  a  mile  distant,  where  the  hardwood  growth  gave 
place  to  spruce.  We  wanted  to  dig  a  pocketful  of 

18 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     19 

spruce  gum.  For  several  days  Ellen  and  Theodora 
had  been  asking  us  to  get  them  some  nice  "  purple  " 
gum. 

As  we  were  going  from  one  spruce  to  another, 
Addison  stopped  suddenly  and  pointed  to  a  little  round 
hole  with  hard  ice  about  it,  near  a  large,  overhanging 
rock  across  which  a  tree  had  fallen.  "  Sh !  "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  I  believe  that's  a  bear's  breath-hole !  " 

We  reconnoitered  the  place  at  a,  safe  distance. 
"  That  may  be  Old  Three  Paws  himself,"  Addison 
said.  "If  it  is,  we  must  put  an  end  to  him."  For 
"  Old  Three  Paws  "  was  a  bear  that  had  given  trouble 
in  the  sheep  pastures  for  years. 

After  a  good  look  all  round,  we  went  home  to 
dinner,  and  at  table  talked  it  over.  The  old  Squire 
was  a  little  incredulous,  but  admitted  that  there  might 
be  a  bear  there.  "  I  will  tell  you  how  you  can  find  out," 
he  said.  "  Take  a  small  looking-glass  with  you  and 
hold  it  to  the  hole.  If  there  is  a  bear  down  there,  you* 
will  see  just  a  little  film  of  moisture  on  the  glass  from 
his  breath." 

We  loaded  two  guns  with  buckshot.  Our  plan  was 
to  wake  the  bear  up,  and  shoot  him  when  he  broke  out 
through  the  snow.  Bears  killed  a  good  many  sheep 
at  that  time;  the  farmers  did  not  regard  them  as 
desirable  neighbors. 

The  ruse  which  Addison  hit  on  for  waking  the  bear 
was  to  blow  black  pepper  down  the  hole  through  a 
hollow  sunflower  stalk.  He  had  an  idea  that  this 
would  set  the  bear  sneezing.  In  view  of  what  hap- 
pened, I  laugh  now  when  I  remember  our  plans  for 
waking  that  bear. 

Directly  after  dinner  we  set  off  for  the  wood-lot 
with  our  guns  and  pepper.  Cold  as  it  was,  Ellen  and 
Theodora  went  with  us,  intending  to  stand  at  a  very 
safe  distance.  Even  grandmother  Ruth  would  have 
gone,  if  it  had  not  been  quite  so  cold  and  snowy.  Al- 
though minus  one  foot,  Old  Three  Paws  was  known  to 


20    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

be  a  savage  bear,  that  had  had  more  than  one  en- 
counter with  mankind. 

While  the  rest  stood  back,  Addison  approached  on 
tiptoe  with  the  looking-glass,  and  held  it  to  the  hole 
for  some  moments.  Then  he  examined  it  and  looked 
back  at  us,  nodding.  There  was  moisture  on  it. 

The  girls  climbed  upon  a  large  rock  among  the 
spruces.  The  old  Squire,  with  one  of  the  guns,  took 
up  a  position  beside  a  tree  about  fifty  feet  from  the 
"  hole."  He  posted  Asa,  who  was  a  pretty  good  shot, 
beside  another  tree  not  far  away.  Halstead  and  I  had 
to  content  ourselves  with  axes  for  weapons,  and  kept 
pretty  well  to  the  rear. 

Addison  was  now  getting  his  pepper  ready.  Ex- 
pectancy ran  high  when  at  last  he  blew  it  down  the 
hole  and  rushed  back.  We  had  little  doubt  that  an 
angry  bear  would  break  out,  sneezing  and  growling. 

But  nothing  of  the  sort  occurred.  Some  minutes 
passed.  Addison  could  not  even  hear  the  faintest 
sneeze  from  below.  He  tiptoed  up  and  blew  in  more 
pepper. 

No  response. 

Cutting  a  pole,  Addison  then  belabored  the  snow 
crust  about  the  hole  with  resounding  whacks — still 
with  no  result. 

After  this  we  approached  less  cautiously.  Asa 
broke  up  the  snow  about  the  hole  and  cleared  it  away, 
uncovering  a  considerable  cavity  which  extended  back 
under  the  partially  raised  root  of  the  fallen  tree.  Hal- 
stead  brought  a  shovel  from  the  wood-piles ;  and  Addi- 
son and  Asa  cut  away  the  roots  of  the  old  tree,  and 
cleared  out  the  frozen  turf  and  leaves  to  a  depth  of 
four  or  five  feet,  gradually  working  down  where  they 
could  look  back  beneath  the  root.  We  had  begun  to 
doubt  whether  we  would  find  anything  there  larger 
than  a  woodchuck. 

At  last  Addison  got  down  on  hands  and  knees,  crept 
in  under  the  root,  and  lighted  several  matches. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     21 

"  There's  something  back  in  there,"  he  said.  "  Looks 
black,  but  I  cannot  see  that  it  moves." 

Asa  crawled  in  and  struck  a  match  or  two,  then 
backed  out.  "  I  believe  it's  a  bear !  "  he  exclaimed,  and 
he  wanted  to  creep  in  with  a  gun  and  fire ;  but  the  old 
Squire  advised  against  that  on  account  of  the  heavy 
charge  in  so  confined  a  space. 

Addison  had  been  peeling  dry  bark  from  a  birch, 
and  crawling  in  again,  lighted  a  roll  of  it.  The 
smoke  drove  him  out,  but  he  emerged  in  excitement. 
"  Bears !  "  he  cried.  "  Two  bears  in  there !  I  saw 
them!" 

Asa  took  a  pole  and  poked  the  bears  cautiously. 
"Dead,  I  guess,"  said  he,  at  last.  "They  don't 
move." 

Addison  crept  in  again,  and  actually  passed  his  hand 
over  the  bears,  then  backed  out,  laughing.  "  No,  they 
are  not  dead !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  They  are  warm.  But 
they  are  awfully  sound  asleep." 

"  Let's  haul  them  out !  "  cried  Asa ;  and  they  now 
sent  me  to  the  wood-sled  for  two  or  three  small  trace- 
chains.  Asa  then  crawled  in  and  slipped  a  chain  about 
the  body  of  one  of  the  bears.  The  other  two  chains 
were  hooked  on ;  and  then  they  slowly  hauled  the  bear 
out,  the  old  Squire  standing  by  with  gun  cocked — for 
we  expected  every  moment  that  the  animal  would 
wake. 

But  even  when  out  on  the  snow  crust  the  creature 
lay  as  inert  as  a  dead  bear.  It  was  small.  "  Only  a 
yearling,"  the  old  Squire  said.  None  of  us  were  now 
much  afraid  of  them,  and  the  other  one  was  drawn 
out  in  the  same  way.  Their  hair  was  glossy  and 
as  black  as  jet.  Possibly  they  would  have  weighed 
seventy-five  pounds  each.  Evidently  they  were  young 
bears  that  had  never  been  separated,  and  that  accounted 
for  their  denning  up  together;  old  bears  rarely  do 
this. 

We  put  them  on  the  wood-sled  and  hauled  them 


22    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

home.  They  lay  in  a  pile  of  hay  on  the  stable  floor  all 
night,  without  a  sign  of  waking  up;  and  the  next 
morning  we  hauled  them  to  the  cellar  of  the  west  barn. 
Under  this  barn,  which  was  used  mainly  for  sheep  and 
young  cattle,  there  were  several  pigsties,  now  empty. 
The  dormant  young  bears  were  rolled  into  one  of  these 
sties  and  the  sty  filled  with  dry  leaves,  such  as  we  used 
for  bedding  in  the  barns. 

About  a  fortnight  afterward  a  young  doctor  named 
Truman,  from  the  village,  desired  very  much  to  see  the 
bears  in  their  winter  sleep.  He  got  into  the  sty,  un- 
covered them,  and  repeatedly  pricked  one  of  them  with 
a  needle,  or  penknife,  without  fairly  waking  it.  But 
salts  of  ammonia,  held  to  the  nostrils  of  the  other  one, 
produced  an  unexpected  result.  The  creature  struck 
out  spasmodically  with  one  paw  and  rolled  suddenly 
over.  Doctor  Truman  jumped  out  of  the  sty  quite  as 
suddenly.  "  He's  alive,  all  right,"  said  the  doctor. 

The  bears  were  not  disturbed  again,  and  remained 
there  so  quietly  that  we  nearly  forgot  them.  It  was 
now  the  second  week  of  March,  and  up  to  this  time  the 
weather  had  continued  cold;  but  a  thaw  set  in,  with 
rain  for  two  or  three  days,  the  temperature  rising  to 
sixty  degrees,  and  even  higher. 

On  the  third  night  of  the  thaw,  or  rather,  in  the 
early  morning,  a  great  commotion  broke  out  at  the 
west  barn.  It  waked  the  girls  first,  their  room  being 
on  that  side  of  the  farmhouse.  At  about  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning  Ellen  came  to  our  door  to  rouse  Addi- 
son  and  me. 

"  There's  a  fearful  racket  up  at  the  west  barn," 
she  said,  in  low  tones.  '  You  had  better  see  what's 
wrong." 

Addison  and  I  threw  on  our  clothes,  went  down 
quietly,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  old  Squire,  and  were 
getting  our  lanterns  ready,  when  he  came  from  his 
room ;  for  he,  too,  had  heard  the  disturbance.  We  then 
sallied  forth  and  approached  the  end  door  of  the  barn. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     23 

Inside,  the  young  cattle  were  bellowing  and  bawling. 
Below,  in  the  barn  cellar,  sheep  were  bleating,  and 
a  shoat  was  adding  its  raucous  voice  to  the  uproar. 
Above  it  all,  however,  we  could  hear  eight  old  turkeys 
and  a  peacock  that  were  wintering  in  the  west 
barn,  "  quitting  "  and  "  quuttering  "  aloft,  where  they 
roosted  on  the  high  beams. 

The  young  cattle,  seventeen  head,  were  tied  facing 
the  barn  floor.  All  of  them  were  on  their  feet,  pulling 
back  at  their  stanchions  in  a  great  state  of  alarm.  But 
the  real  trouble  seemed  now  to  be  aloft  in  the  dark 
roof  of  the  barn,  among  the  turkeys.  Addison  held  up 
the  lantern.  Nothing  could  be  seen  so  far  up  there  in 
the  dark,  but  feathers  came  fluttering  down,  and  the 
old  peacock  was  squalling,  "  Tap-pee-yaw !  "  over  and 
over. 

We  fixed  a  lantern  on  the  end  of  a  long  bean-pole 
and  thrust  it  high  up.  Its  light  revealed  those  two 
young  bears  on  one  of  the  high  beams  of  the  barn ! 

One  of  them  had  the  head  of  a  turkey  in  his  mouth, 
and  was  apparently  trying  to  bolt  it ;  and  we  discovered 
later  that  they  had  had  trouble  with  the  shoat  down  in 
the  cellar.  The  shoat  was  somewhat  scratched,  but  had 
stood  them  off. 

Several  of  the  sheep  had  their  fleeces  torn,  partic- 
ularly one  old  Cotswold  ram,  which  also  had  a  bleeding 
nose.  Evidently  the  barn  had  been  the  scene  of  a  pro- 
tracted fracas.  The  bears  must  have  climbed  for  the 
turkeys  as  a  last  resort.  How  they  reached  the  beam 
we  did  not  know,  unless  by  swarming  up  one  of  the 
bare  posts  of  the  barn. 

To  drive  them  down,  Addison  climbed  on  a  scaffold 
and  thrust  the  lantern  close  up  to  the  one  with  the 
turkey's  head  in  its  mouth.  The  bear  struck  at  the 
lantern  with  one  paw,  started  back,  but  lost  its  claw- 
hold  on  the  beam  and  fell,  turkey  and  all,  eighteen  or 
twenty  feet  to  the  barn  floor. 

The  old  Squire  and  I  sprang  aside  in  great  haste; 


24    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

but  so  far  as  we  could  see,  the  bear  never  stirred  after 
it  struck  the  floor.  Either  the  fall  broke  its  neck,  or 
else  the  turkey's  head  choked  it  to  death. 

When  menaced  with  the  lantern,  the  other  bear  slid 
down  one  of  the  barn  posts,  tail  first,  and  was  driven 
into  a  horse  stall  at  the  far  end  of  the  barn.  There  we 
succeeded  in  shutting  it  up,  and  in  the  morning  gave  it 
a  breakfast  of  corn-meal  dough  and  apples,  which  it 
devoured  with  great  avidity. 

We  had  no  particular  use  for  a  bear,  and  a  week 
later  sold  this  youngster  to  Doctor  Truman.  He  soon 
tired  of  his  new  pet,  however,  and  parted  with  it  to 
a  friend  who  kept  a  summer  hotel  in  the  White 
Mountains. 

The  other  bear — the  one  that  fell  from  the  high 
beam — had  the  handsomest  black,  glossy  pelt  I  have 
ever  seen.  Grandmother  Ruth  insisted  on  having  it 
tanned  and  made  into  a  rug.  She  declared  jocosely 
that  it  should  be  given  to  the  first  one  of  our  girls  who 
married.  Ellen  finally  fell  heir  to  it,  and  carried  it 
with  her  to  Dakota. 


CHAPTER   IV 

WHITE   MONKEY    WEEK 

CUTTING  and  drawing  the  year's  supply  of  fire- 
wood to  the  door  occupied  us  for  a  week;  and 
following  this  we  boys  had  planned  to  take 
matters  easy  awhile,  for  the  old  Squire  was  to  be  away 
from  home.  Asa  Doane  had  left  us,  too,  for  a  visit 
to  his  folks'.  As  it  chanced,  however,  a  strenuous 
emergency  arose. 

A  year  previously  the  old  Squire  had  made  an  agree- 
ment with  a  New  York  factory,  to  furnish  dowels  and 
strips  of  clear  white  birch  wood,  for  piano  keys  and 
passementerie. 

At  that  time  passementerie  was  coming  into  use  for 
ladies'  dresses.  The  fine  white-birch  dowels  were  first 
turned  round  on  small  lathes  and  afterwards  into  little 
bugle  and  bottle-shaped  ornaments,  then  dyed  a  glisten- 
ing black  and  strung  on  linen  threads. 

On  our  own  forest  lots  we  had  no  birch  which  quite 
met  the  requirements.  But  another  lumberman,  an 
acquaintance  of  the  old  Squire's,  named  John  Lurvey 
(a  brother  of  old  Zachary  Lurvey),  who  owned  lots 
north  of  ours,  had  just  what  we  needed  to  fill  the 
order. 

Lumbermen  are  often  "  neighborly  "  with  each  other 
in  such  matters,  and  with  John  Lurvey  the  old  Squire 
made  a  kind  of  running  contract  for  three  hundred 
cords  of  white-birch  "  bolts "  from  a  lakeside  lot. 
Each  one  made  a  memorandum  of  the  agreement  in 
his  pocket  note-book;  and  as  each  trusted  the  other, 
nothing  more  exact  or  formal  was  thought  necessary. 

The  white  birch  was  known  to  be  valuable  lumlDer. 
We  were  to  pay  two  thousand  dollars  for  it  on  the 

25 


26    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

stump, — one  thousand  down, — and  have  two  "winters" 
in  which  to  get  it  off  and  pay  the  balance  of  the  money. 
And  here  it  may  be  said  that  in  the  Maine  woods  a 
winter  is  supposed  to  mean  the  snowy  season  from 
November  till  April. 

Meanwhile  other  ventures  were  pressing.  In  com- 
pany with  a  Canadian  partner,  the  old  Squire  was  then 
getting  spruce  lumber  down  the  St.  Maurice  River  at 
Three  Rivers,  in  the  Province  of  Quebec.  This  New 
York  birch  contract  was  deferred  a  year,  the  plan  being 
finally  to  get  off  the  birch  in  March  of  the  second 
winter,  when  the  crews  and  teams  from  two  other 
lumber-camps  could  conveniently  be  sent  to  the  lake, 
and  make  a  quick  job  of  it. 

But  in  December  of  that  second  winter  John  Lurvey 
died  suddenly  of  pneumonia.  His  property  passed  into 
the  hands  of  his  wife,  who  was  by  no  means  easy- 
going. She  overhauled  this  note-book  agreement,  took 
legal  advice  of  a  sharp  lawyer,  and  on  February  2ist 
sent  us  legal  notification  that  the  agreement  would 
expire  on  February  28th,  the  last  day  of  winter,  ac- 
cording to  the  calendar.  The  notification  also  de- 
manded payment  of  the  second  thousand  dollars.  Her 
scheme,  of  course,  was  to  get  the  money  in  full  and 
cut  us  off,  in  default,  from  removing  the  birch  lumber 
from  the  lot.  The  old  Squire  himself  had  gone  to 
Canada. 

The  notification  came  by  letter,  and  as  usual  when 
the  old  Squire  was  away,  grandmother  Ruth  opened 
his  mail  to  see  what  demanded  our  attention.  We 
were  all  in  the  sitting-room,  except  Halstead,  who  was 
away  that  evening. 

"  What  can  this  mean?  "  grandmother  suddenly  ex- 
claimed, and  handed  the  letter  to  Addison.  He  saw 
through  it  instantly,  and  jumped  up  in  excitement. 

"We're  trapped!  "he  cried.  "If  we  don't  get 
that  birch  off  next  week  we  shall  lose  two  thousand 
dollars!" 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     27 

Grandmother  was  dismayed.  "  Oh,  that  wicked 
woman !  "  she  cried.  "  Why,  winter  always  means 
through  sledding !  " 

"  I'm  afraid  not,  in  law,"  said  Addison,  looking 
puzzled.  "  Winter  ends  either  the  first  or  the  twenty- 
first  of  March.  I  think  a  good  argument  could  be 
made  in  court  for  the  twenty-first.  But  she  may  be 
right,  and  it's  too  late  to  take  chances.  The  only  thing 
to  do  is  to  get  that  lumber  off  right  away." 

Addison  and  I  went  out  to  the  stable  to  talk  the 
matter  over;  we  did  not  want  to  excite  grandmother 
any  further.  At  best,  she  had  a  good  deal  to  worry 
her  that  winter. 

"  Now  what  can  we  do  ?  "  Addison  exclaimed.  Five 
or  six  days  would  be  required  to  get  the  old  Squire 
home  from  Canada. 

"  And  what  could  he  do  after  he  got  here?  "  Addi- 
son asked.  "  The  teams  and  the  choppers  are  all  off  at 
the  lumber-camps." 

"  Let's  take  our  axes  and  go  up  there  and  cut  what 
birch  we  can  next  week,"  said  I,  in  desperation. 

"  Oh,  we  boys  couldn't  do  much  alone  in  so  short  a 
time,"  replied  Addison. 

Still,  we  could  think  of  nothing  else;  and  with  the 
loss  of  two  thousand  dollars  staring  us  in  the  face,  we 
began  planning  desperately  how  much  of  that  birch  we 
could  save  in  a  week's  time.  In  fact,  we  scarcely  slept 
at  all  that  night,  and  early  the  next  morning  started 
out  to  rally  what  help  we  could. 

Willis  Murch  and  Thomas  Edwards  volunteered  to 
work  for  us,  and  take  each  a  yoke  of  oxen.  After 
much  persuasion  our  neighbor  Sylvester  promised  to 
go  with  a  team,  and  to  take  his  son  Rufus,  Jr.  Going 
on  to  the  post-office  at  the  Corners,  we  succeeded  in 
hiring  two  other  young  men. 

But  even  with  the  help  of  these  men  we  could  ac- 
count for  scarcely  a  seventh  part  of  the  contract,  since 
one  chopper  could  cut  not  more  than  a  cord  and  a  half 


28    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

of  birch  bolts  in  a  day;  and  moreover,  the  bolts  had  to 
be  removed  from  the  lot. 

But  as  we  rushed  round  that  forenoon,  it  occurred 
to  Addison  to  hire  a  horse-power  and  circular  saw  that 
was  owned  by  a  man  named  Morefield,  who  lived  near 
the  wood-sheds  of  the  railway-station,  six  miles  from 
the  old  Squire's.  It  was  a  rig  used  for  sawing  wood 
for  the  locomotives. 

Hurrying  home,  we  hitched  up,  drove  to  the  station, 
and  succeeded  in  engaging  Morefield  and  his  saw,  with 
two  spans  of  heavy  horses. 

But  other  cares  had  now  loomed  up,  not  the  least 
among  them  being  the  problem  of  feeding  our  hastily 
collected  crew  of  helpers  and  their  teams  sixteen  miles 
off  in  the  woods.  Just  across  the  lake  from  the  lot 
where  the  birch  grew  there  was  a  lumber-camp  where 
we  could  set  up  a  stove  and  do  our  cooking ;  and  during 
the  afternoon  we  packed  up  supplies  of  pork,  beans 
and  corned  beef,  while  in  the  house  grandmother  and 
the  girls  were  baking  bread.  I  had  also  to  go  to  the 
mill,  to  get  corn  ground  for  the  teams. 

Theodora  and  Ellen  were  eager  to  go  and  do  the 
cooking  at  the  camp ;  but  grandmother  knew  that  an 
older  woman  of  greater  experience  was  needed  in  such 
an  emergency,  and  had  that  morning  sent  urgent  word 
to  Olive  Witham, — "  Aunt  Olive,"  as  we  called  her, — 
who  was  always  our  mainstay  in  times  of  trouble  at 
the  old  farm. 

She  was  about  fifty-five  years  old,  tall,  austere,  not 
wholly  attractive,  but  of  upright  character  and  un- 
daunted courage. 

By  nine  that  evening  everything  was  ready  for  a 
start ;  and  sunrise  the  next  morning  saw  us  on  the  way 
up  to  the  birch  lot,  Aunt  Olive  riding  in  the  "  horse- 
power," on  a  sled,  which  bore  also  a  firkin  of  butter,  a 
cheese,  a  four-gallon  can  of  milk,  a  bag  of  bread  and 
a  large  basket  of  eggs. 

One  team  did  not  get  off  so  early,  neighbor  Syl- 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     29 

vester's.  He  was  to  start  two  hours  later  and  draw  up 
to  camp  the  heaviest  part  of  our  supplies,  consisting 
of  half  a  barrel  of  pork,  two  bushels  of  potatoes,  a 
peck  of  dry  beans,  a  hundredweight  of  corned  beef 
and  two  gallons  of  molasses. 

Twelve  miles  of  our  way  that  morning  was  by  a 
trodden  winter  road,  but  the  last  four  miles,  after 
crossing  Lurvey's  Stream,  had  to  be  broken  through 
three  feet  of  snow  in  the  woods,  giving  us  four  hours 
of  tiresome  tramping. 

We  reached  the  lot  at  one  o'clock,  and  during  the 
afternoon  set  up  the  horse-power  on  the  lake  shore,  at 
the  foot  of  the  slope  where  the  white  birch  grew.  We 
also  contrived  a  log  slide,  or  slip,  down  which  the  long 
birch  trunks  could  be  slid  to  the  saw  and  cut  up  into 
four- foot  bolts.  For  our  plan  now  was  to  fell  the  trees 
and  "  twitch  "  them  down-hill  with  teams  to  the  head 
of  this  slip.  By  rolling  the  bolts,  as  they  fell  from  the 
saw,  down  an  incline  and  out  on  the  ice  of  the  lake,  we 
would  remove  them  from  Mrs.  Lurvey's  land,  and 
thereby  comply  with  the  letter  of  the  law,  by  aid  of 
which  she  was  endeavoring  to  rob  us  and  escheat  our 
rights  to  the  birch. 

There  were  ten  of  us.  Each  knew  what  was  at 
stake,  and  all  worked  with  such  good-will  that  by  five 
o'clock  we  had  the  saw  running.  The  white  birches 
there  were  from  a  foot  up  to  twenty-two  inches  in 
diameter,  having  long,  straight  trunks,  clear  of  limbs 
from  thirty  to  forty  feet  in  length.  These  clear  trunks 
only  were  used  for  bolts. 

Plying  their  axes,  Halstead,  Addison,  Thomas  and 
Willis  felled  upward  of  forty  trees  that  night,  and  these 
were  all  sawn  by  dark.  On  an  average,  five  trees  were 
required  for  a  cord  of  bolts,  but  with  sharp  axes  such 
white-birch  trees  can  be  felled  fast.  Morefield  tended 
the  saw  and  drove  the  horses  in  the  horse-power;  the 
rest  of  us  were  kept  busy  sliding  the  birch  trunks  down 
the  slip  to  the  saw,  and  rolling  away  the  bolts. 


30    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

By  dark  we  had  made  a  beginning  of  our  hard 
week's  task,  and  in  the  gathering  dusk  plodded  across 
the  lake  to  the  old  lumber-camp,  expecting  to  find  Aunt 
Olive  smiling  and  supper  ready. 

But  here  disappointment  awaited  us.  Sylvester, 
with  the  sled-load  of  supplies,  had  not  come,  did  not 
arrive,  in  fact,  till  half  an  hour  later,  and  then  with  his 
oxen  only.  Disaster  had  befallen  him  on  the  way. 
While  crossing  Lurvey's  Stream,  the  team  had  broken 
through  the  ice  where  the  current  beneath  was  swift. 
He  had  saved  the  oxen;  but  the  sled,  with  our  beef, 
pork,  beans  and  potatoes,  had  been  drawn  under  and 
carried  away,  he  knew  not  how  far,  under  the  ice. 

A  stare  of  dismay  from  the  entire  hungry  party 
followed  this  announcement.  It  looked  like  no  supper 
— after  a  hard  day's  work!  Worse  still,  to  Addison 
and  myself  it  looked  like  the  crippling  of  our  whole 
program  for  the  next  five  days;  for  a  lumber  crew  is 
much  like  an  army;  it  lives  and  works  only  by  virtue  of 
its  commissariat. 

But  now  Aunt  Olive  rose  to  the  emergency.  "  Don't 
you  be  discouraged,  boys !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Give  me 
twenty  minutes,  and  you  shall  have  a  supper  fit  for  a 
king.  You  shall  have  white  monkey  on  toast !  Toast 
thirty  or  forty  slices  of  this  bread,  boys,"  she  added, 
laughing  cheerily.  "  Toast  it  good  and  brown,  while  I 
dress  the  monkey !  " 

Addison,  Thomas  and  I  began  toasting  bread  over 
the  hot  stove,  but  kept  a  curious  eye  out  for  that  "white 
monkey." 

Of  course  it  was  figurative  monkey.  Aunt  Olive 
put  six  quarts  of  milk  in  a  kettle  on  the  stove,  and  as  it 
warmed,  thickened  it  slightly  with  about  a  pint  of 
corn-meal. 

As  it  grew  hotter,  she  melted  into  it  a  square  of 
butter  about  half  the  size  of  a  brick,  then  chipped  up 
fine  as  much  as  a  pound  of  cheese,  and  added  that 
slowly,  so  as  to  dissolve  it. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    31 

Last,  she  rapidly  broke,  beat  and  added  a  dozen 
eggs,  then  finished  off  with  salt  and  a  tiny  bit  of 
Cayenne  pepper,  well  stirred  in. 

For  five  minutes  longer  she  allowed  the  kettleful  to 
simmer  on  the  stove,  while  we  buttered  three  huge 
stacks  of  toast. 

The  monkey  was  then  ready.  All  hands  gathered 
round  with  their  plates,  and  in  turn  had  four  slices  of 
toast,  one  after  another,  each  slice  with  a  generous 
ladle ful  of  white  monkey  poured  over  it. 

It  was  delicious,  very  satisfying,  too,  and  gave  one 
the  sense  of  being  well  fed,  since  it  contained  all  the 
ingredients  of  substantial  food.  As  made  by  Aunt 
Olive,  this  white  monkey  had  the  consistency  of  moder- 
ately thick  cream.  It  slightly  resembled  Welsh  rabbit, 
but  we  found  it  was  much  more  palatable  and  whole- 
some, having  more  milk  and  egg  in  it,  and  far  less 
cheese. 

We  liked  it  so  well  that  we  all  wanted  it  for  break- 
fast the  next  morning — and  that  was  fortunate,  since 
we  had  little  else,  and  were  exceedingly  loath  to  lose  a 
day's  time  sending  teams  down  home,  or  elsewhere, 
for  more  meat,  beans  and  potatoes. 

There  were  several  families  of  French-Canadians 
living  at  clearings  on  Lurvey's  Stream,  three  miles 
below  the  lake ;  and  since  I  was  the  youngest  and  least 
efficient  axman  of  the  party,  they  sent  me  down  there 
every  afternoon  to  buy  milk  and  eggs,  for  more  white 
monkey.  Of  cheese  and  butter  we  had  a  sufficient 
supply;  and  the  yellow  corn-meal  which  we  had 
brought  for  the  teams  furnished  sheetful  after  sheet- 
ful  of  johnny-cake,  which  Aunt  Olive  split,  toasted, 
and  buttered  well,  as  a  groundwork  for  the  white 
monkey. 

And  for  five  days  we  ate  it  as  we  toiled  twelve  hours 
to  the  day,  chopping,  hauling  and  sawing  birch ! 

We  had  a  slight  change  of  diet  on  the  fourth  day, 
when  Aunt  Olive  cooked  two  old  roosters  and  a 


32    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

chicken,  which  I  had  coaxed  away  from  the  reluctant 
French  settlers  down  the  stream. 

But  it  was  chiefly  white  monkey  every  day ;  and  the 
amount  of  work  which  we  did  on  it  was  a  tribute  to 
Aunt  Olive's  resourcefulness.  The  older  men  of  the 
party  declared  that  they  had  never  slept  so  well  as  after 
those  evening  meals  of  white  monkey  on  johnny-cake 
toast.  Beyond  doubt,  it  was  much  better  for  us  than 
heavier  meals  of  meat  and  beans  after  days  of  hard 
labor. 

From  half  an  hour  before  sunrise  till  an  hour  after 
sunset,  during  those  entire  five  days,  the  tall  white 
birches  fell  fast,  the  saw  hummed,  and  the  bolts  went 
rolling  out  on  the  ice-clad  lake. 

I  never  saw  a  crew  work  with  such  good-will  or 
felt  such  enthusiasm  myself  as  during  those  five  days. 
We  had  the  exhilarating  sensation  that  we  were  beat- 
ing a  malicious  enemy.  Every  little  while  a  long, 
cheery  whoop  of  exultation  would  be  raised  and  go 
echoing  across  the  lake;  and  that  last  day  of  February 
we  worked  by  the  light  of  little  bonfires  of  birch  bark 
till  near  midnight. 

Then  we  stopped — to  clear  the  law.  And  I  may 
state  here,  although  it  must  sound  like  a  large  story, 
that  during  those  five  working  days  the  ten  of  us 
felled,  sawed  and  rolled  out  on  the  ice  two  hundred 
and  eighty-six  cords  of  white-birch  bolts.  Of  course 
it  was  the  saw  and  the  two  relieving  spans  of  horses 
which  did  the  greater  part  of  the  work,  the  four  ax- 
men  doing  little  more  than  fell  the  tall  birch-trees. 

The  next  day,  after  a  final  breakfast  of  white 
monkey,  we  went  home  triumphant,  leaving  the  bolts 
on  the  ice  for  the  time  being.  All  were  tired,  but  in 
high  spirits,  for  victory  was  ours. 

Two  days  later  the  old  Squire  came  home  from 
Three  Rivers,  entirely  unaware  of  what  had  occurred, 
having  it  now  in  mind  to  organize  and  begin  what  he 
supposed  would  be  a  month's  work  up  at  the  birch  lot 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     33 

for  the  choppers  and  teams  from  the  two  logging- 
camps  farther  north. 

Neither  grandmother  Ruth  nor  the  rest  of  us  could 
resist  having  a  little  fun  with  him.  After  supper, 
when  we  had  gathered  in  the  sitting-room,  grand- 
mother quietly  handed  him  Mrs.  Lurvey's  letter,  with 
the  notification  about  the  birch. 

"  This  came  while  you  were  away,  Joseph,"  she  said 
to  him,  while  the  rest  of  us,  sitting  very  still,  looked 
on,  keenly  interested  to  see  how  he  would  take  it. 

The  old  Squire  unfolded  the  letter  and  began  read- 
ing it,  then  started  suddenly,  and  for  some  moments 
sat  very  still,  pondering  the  notification.  *  This  bids 
fair  to  be  a  serious  matter  for  us,"  he  said,  at  last. 
"  We  have  lost  that  birch  contract,  I  fear,  and  the 
money  that  went  into  it. 

"  And  I  have  only  my  own  carelessness  to  thank  for 
it,"  he  added,  looking  distressed. 

Theodora  could  not  stand  that  another  minute.  She 
stole  round  behind  the  old  Squire's  chair,  put  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  and  whispered  something  in  his  ear. 

"  What !  "  he  exclaimed,  incredulously. 

"  Yes !  "  she  cried  to  him. 

"  Impossible,  child !  "  said  he. 

"  No,  it. isn't !"  shouted  Addison.  "  We've  got  that 
birch  off,  sir.  It  is  all  sawn  up  in  bolts  and  out  on  the 
lake!" 

"  What,  in  a  week?  "  exclaimed  the  old  Squire. 

"  All  in  five  days,  sir!  "  cried  Addison  and  I. 

The  old  gentleman  sat  looking  at  us  in  blank  sur- 
prise. He  was  an  experienced  lumberman,  and  knew 
exactly  what  such  a  statement  as  ours  implied. 

"  Not  three  hundred  cords  ?  "  said  he,  gravely. 

"  Close  on  to  that,  sir!  "  cried  Addison. 

Thereupon  we  all  began  to  tell  him  about  it  at  once. 
None  of  us  could  remain  quiet.  But  it  was  not  till  we 
had  related  the  whole  story,  and  told  him  who  had 
helped  us,  along  with  Addison's  scheme  of  hiring  the 


34    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

horse-power  and  saw,  that  he  really  believed  it.  He 
sprang  up,  walked  twice  across  the  sitting-room,  then 
stopped  short  and  looked  at  us. 

"  Boys,  I'm  proud  of  you !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Proud 
of  you !  I  couldn't  have  done  as  well  myself." 

"Yes,  Joseph,  they're  chips  of  the  old  block!" 
grandmother  chimed  in.  "  And  we've  beaten  that 
wicked  woman !  " 

Mrs.  Lurvey,  as  I  may  add  here,  was  far  from 
sharing  in  our  exultation.  She  was  a  person  of  violent 
temper.  It  was  said  that  she  shook  with  rage  when  she 
heard  what  we  boys  had  done.  But  her  lawyer  advised 
her  to  keep  quiet. 

During  the  next  two  weeks  the  birch  bolts  were 
drawn  to  our  mill,  four  miles  down  Lurvey's  Stream, 
and  sawn  into  thin  strips  and  dowels,  then  shipped 
in  bundles,  by  rail  and  schooner  from  Portland,  to 
New  York;  and  the  contract  netted  the  old  Squire 
about  twenty-five  hundred  dollars  above  the  cost  of  the 
birch. 

But  as  I  look  back  on  it,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
Aunt  Olive  was  the  real  heroine  of  that  strenuous 
week. 


NOTE.  The  following  recipe  will  make  a  sufficient  quantity  of 
"  white  monkey  "  for  three  persons.  Put  over  the  fire  one  pint  of 
new  milk  in  a  double  boiler.  As  soon  as  the  milk  is  warm,  stir  in 
one  teaspoonful  of  flour  mixed  with  two  tablespoonfuls  of  cold 
water.  As  the  milk  gets  hotter,  add  slowly,  so  as  to  dissolve  it, 
two  ounces  of  cheese,  grated  or  chipped  fine.  Then  add  one 
ounce  of  butter,  a  teaspoonful  of  salt,  a  dash  of  Cayenne  pepper, 
and  one  egg,  well  beaten  and  mixed  with  two  tablespoonfuls  of 
cold  milk  or  water.  Let  the  mixture  simmer  five  minutes,  then 
serve  hot  on  wheat  bread  or  brown-bread  toast,  well  browned 
and  buttered. 


CHAPTER   V 

WHEN    OLD   ZACK    WENT   TO   SCHOOL 

THIS  same  week,  I  think,  there  was  a  commotion 
throughout  the  town  on  account  of  exciting  in- 
cidents in  what  was  known  as  the  "  Mills  " 
school  district,  four  miles  from  the  old  Squire's,  where 
a  "  pupil  "  nearly  sixty  years  old  was  bent  on  attending 
school — contrary  to  law ! 

For  ten  or  fifteen  years  Zachary  Lurvey  had  been 
the  old  Squire's  rival  in  the  lumber  business.  We  had 
had  more  than  one  distracting  contention  with  him. 
Yet  we  could  not  but  feel  a  certain  sympathy  for  him 
when,  at  the  age  of  fifty-eight,  he  set  out  to  get  an 
education. 

Old  Zack  would  never  tell  any  one  where  he  came 
from,  though  there  was  a  rumor  that  he  hailed  origi- 
nally from  Petitcodiac,  New  Brunswick.  When,  as  a 
boy  of  about  twenty,  he  had  first  appeared  in  our 
vicinity,  he  could  neither  read  nor  write ;  apparently  he 
had  never  seen  a  schoolhouse.  He  did  not  even  know 
there  was  such  a  place  as  Boston,  or  New  York,  and 
had  never  heard  of  George  Washington ! 

But  he  had  settled  and  gone  to  work  at  the  place  that 
was  afterwards  known  as  Lurvey's  Mills ;  and  he  soon 
began  to  prosper,  for  he  was  possessed  of  keen  mother 
wit  and  had  energy  and  resolution  enough  for  half  a 
dozen  ordinary  men. 

For  years  and  years  in  all  his  many  business  trans- 
actions he  had  to  make  a  mark  for  his  signature ;  and 
he  kept  all  his  accounts  on  the  attic  floor  of  his  house 
with  beans  and  kernels  of  corn,  even  after  they  repre- 

35 


36    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

sented  thousands  of  dollars.  Then  at  last  a  disaster 
befell  him;  his  house  burned  while  he  was  away;  and 
from  the  confusion  that  resulted  the  disadvantages  of 
bookkeeping  in  cereals  was  so  forcibly  borne  in  upon 
him  that  he  suddenly  resolved  to  learn  to  read,  write 
and  reckon. 

On  the  first  day  of  the  following  winter  term  he  ap- 
peared at  the  district  schoolhouse  with  a  primer,  a 
spelling  book,  a  Greenleaf's  Arithmetic,  a  copy  book, 
a  pen  and  an  ink  bottle. 

The  schoolmaster  was  a  young  sophomore  from 
Colby  College  named  Marcus  Cobb,  a  stranger  in 
the  place.  When  he  entered  the  schoolhouse  that 
morning  he  was  visibly  astonished  to  see  a  large,  bony, 
formidable-looking  old  man  sitting  there  among  the 
children. 

"  Don't  ye  be  scairt  of  me,  young  feller,"  old  Zack 
said  to  him.  "  I  guess  ye  can  teach  me,  for  I  don't 
know  my  letters  yit !  " 

Master  Cobb  called  the  school  to  order  and  pro- 
ceeded to  ask  the  names  and  ages  of  his  pupils.  When 
Zack's  turn  came,  the  old  fellow  replied  promptly: 

"  Zack  Lurvey,  fifty-eight  years,  five  months  and 
eighteen  days." 

"Zack?"  the  master  queried  in  some  perplexity. 
"  Does  that  stand  for  Zachary?  How  do  you  spell 
it?" 

"  I  never  spelled  it,"  old  Zack  replied  with  a  grin. 
"  I'm  here  to  larn  how.  Fact  is,  I'm  jest  a  leetle 
backward." 

The  young  master  began  to  realize  that  he  was  in 
for  something  extraordinary.  In  truth,  he  had  the 
time  of  his  life  there  that  winter.  Not  that  old  Zack 
misbehaved ;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  a  model  of  studi- 
ousness  and  was  very  anxious  to  learn.  But  education 
went  hard  with  him  at  first ;  he  was  more  than  a  week 
in  learning  his  letters  and  sat  by  the  hour,  making 
them  on  a  slate,  muttering  them  aloud,  sometimes 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     37 

vehemently,  with  painful  groans.  M  and  W  gave  him 
constant  trouble;  and  so  did  B  and  R.  He  grew  so 
wrathful  over  his  mistakes  at  times  that  he  thumped 
the  desk  with  his  fist,  and  once  he  hurled  his  primer  at 
the  stove. 

"  Why  did  they  make  the  measly  little  things  look  so 
much  alike !  "  he  cried. 

He  wished  to.  skip  the  letters  altogether  and  to  learn 
to  read  by  the  looks  of  the  words ;  but  the  master  as- 
sured him  that  he  must  learn  the  alphabet  first  if  he 
wished  to  learn  to  write  later,  and  finally  he  prevailed 
with  the  stubborn  old  man. 

"  Well,  I  do  want  to  larn,"  old  Zack  replied.  "  I'm 
goin'  the  whole  hog,  ef  it  kills  me !  " 

And  apparently  it  did  pretty  near  kill  him;  at  any 
rate  he  perspired  over  his  work  and  at  times  was  near 
shedding  tears. 

Certain  of  the  letters  he  drew  on  paper  with  a  lead 
pencil  and  pasted  on  the  back  of  his  hands,  so  as  to 
keep  them  in  sight.  One  day  he  tore  the  alphabet  out 
of  his  primer  and  put  it  into  the  crown  of  his  cap — 
"  to  see  ef  it  wouldn't  soak  in,"  he  said.  When,  after 
a  hard  struggle,  he  was  able  to  get  three  letters  to- 
gether and  spell  cat,  c-a-t,  he  was  so  much  pleased  that 
he  clapped  his  hands  and  shouted,  "  Scat!  "  at  the  top 
of  his  voice. 

The  effect  of  such  performances  on  a  roomful  of 
small  boys  and  girls  was  not  conducive  to  good  order. 
It  was  only  with  difficulty  that  the  young  master  could 
hear  lessons  or  induce  his  pupils  to  study.  Old  Zack 
was  the  center  of  attraction  for  every  juvenile  eye. 

It  was  when  the  old  fellow  first  began  to  write  his 
name,  or  try  to,  in  his  copy  book,  that  he  caused 
the  greatest  commotion.  Only  with  the  most  painful 
efforts  did  his  wholly  untrained  fingers  trace  the  copy 
that  the  master  had  set.  His  mouth,  too,  followed  the 
struggles  of  his  fingers;  and  the  facial  grimaces  that 
resulted  set  the  school  into  a  gale  of  laughter.  In  fact, 


38    A  BUSY  YEAH  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

the  master — a  good  deal  amused  himself — was  wholly 
unable  to  calm  the  room  so  long  as  old  Zack  continued 
his  exercise  in  writing. 

The  children  of  course  carried  home  accounts  of 
what  went  on  at  school;  and  certain  of  the  parents 
complained  to  the  school  N  agent  that  their  children 
were  not  learning  properly.  The  complaints  con- 
tinued, and  finally  the  agent — his  name  was  Moss — 
visited  the  school-room  and  informed  old  Zack  that 
he  must  leave. 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  any  right  to  be  here,"  Moss 
said  to  him.  "  And  you're  giving  trouble ;  you  raise 
such  a  disturbance  that  the  children  can't  attend  to 
their  studies." 

Old  Zack  appealed  to  Master  Cobb.  "  Have  I  broken 
any  of  your  rules  ?  "  he  asked.  The  master  could  not 
say  that  he  had,  intentionally. 

"  Haven't  I  studied?  "  old  Zack  asked. 

'  You  certainly  have,"  the  master  admitted,  laugh- 
ing. 

But  the  school  agent  was  firm.  '  You'll  have  to 
leave !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You're  too  old  and  too  big  to 
come  here !  " 

"  All  the  same,  I'm  comin'  here,"  said  old  Zack. 

"  We'll  see  about  that!  "  cried  Moss  angrily.  "  The 
law  is  on  my  side !  " 

That  was  the  beginning  of  what  is  still  remembered 
as  "  the  war  at  the  Mills  schoolhouse."  The  agent  ap- 
pealed to  the  school  board  of  the  town,  which  consisted 
of  three  members, — two  clergymen  and  a  lawyer, — 
and  the  following  day  the  board  appeared  at  the 
schoolhouse.  After  conferring  with  the  master,  they 
proceeded  formally  to  expel  old  Zack  Lurvey  from 
school. 

Old  Zack,  however,  hotly  defended  his  right  to  get 
an  education,  and  a  wordy  combat  ensued. 

"  You're  too  old  to  draw  school  money,"  the  lawyer 
informed  him.  "  No  money  comes  to  you  for  school- 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    39 

ing  after  you  are  twenty-one,  and  you  look  to  be  three 
times  as  old  as  that !  " 

Thereupon  old  Zack  drew  out  his  pocketbook  and 
laid  down  twenty  dollars.  "  There  is  your  money," 
said  he.  "  I  can  pay  my  way." 

"  But  you  are  too  old  to  attend  a  district  school,"  the 
lawyer  insisted.  "  You  can't  go  after  you  are  twenty- 
one." 

"  But  I  have  never  been,"  old  Zack  argued.  "  I 
never  used  up  my  right  to  go.  I  oughter  have  it 
now!" 

"  That    isn't    the    point,"    declared    the     lawyer. 

"  You're  too  old  to  go.     Besides,  we  are  informed 

that  you  are  keeping  the  lawful  pupils  from  properly 

attending  to  their  studies.     You  must  pick  up  your 

books  and  leave  the  schoolhouse." 

Old  Zack  eyed  him  in  silence.  "  I'm  goin'  to  school, 
and  I'm  goin'  here,"  he  said  at  last. 

That  was  defiance  of  the  board's  authority,  and  the 
lawyer — a  young  man — threw  off  his  coat  and  tried  to 
eject  the  unruly  pupil  from  the  room;  but  to  his 
chagrin  he  was  himself  ejected,  with  considerable 
damage  to  his  legal  raiment.  Returning  from  the 
door,  old  Zack  offered  opportunity  for  battle  to  the 
reverend  gentlemen — which  they  prudently  declined. 
The  lawyer  re-entered,  covered  with  snow,  for  old 
Zack  had  dropped  him  into  a  drift  outside. 

Summoning  his  two  colleagues  and  the  schoolmaster 
to  assist  him  in  sustaining  the  constituted  authority, 
the  lawyer  once  more  advanced  upon  old  Zack,  who  re- 
treated to  the  far  corner  of  the  room  and  bade  them 
come  on. 

Many  of  the  smaller  pupils  were  now  crying  from 
fright;  and  the  two  clergymen,  probably  feeling  that 
the  proceedings  had  become  scandalous,  persuaded 
their  colleague  to  cease  hostilities ;  and  in  the  end  the 
board  contented  itself  with  putting  a  formal  order  of 
expulsion  into  writing.  School  was  then  dismissed  for 


40    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

that  afternoon,  and  they  all  went  away,  leaving  old 
Zack  backed  into  the  corner  of  the  room.  But,  regard- 
less of  his  "  expulsion,"  the  next  morning  he  came  to 
school  again  and  resumed  his  arduous  studies. 

The  story  had  gone  abroad,  and  the  whole  com- 
munity was  waiting  to  see  what  would  follow.  The 
school  board  appealed  to  the  sheriff,  who  offered  to 
arrest  old  Zack  if  the  board  would  provide  him  with  a 
warrant.  It  seemed  simple  enough,  at  first,  to  draw 
a  warrant  for  old  Zack's  arrest,  but  legal  difficulties 
arose.  He  could  not  well  be  taken  for  assault,  for  it 
was  the  lawyer  that  had  attacked  him ;  or  for  wanton 
mischief,  for  his  intent  in  going  to  school  was  not  mis- 
chievous ;  or  yet  for  trespass,  for  he  had  offered  to  pay 
for  his  schooling. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  on  account  of  his  age  he 
had  no  business  in  the  school  and  that  the  board  had 
the  right  to  refuse  him  schooling;  yet  it  was  not  easy 
to  word  his  offense  in  such  a  way  that  it  constituted  a 
misdemeanor  that  could  properly  be  stated  in  a  war- 
rant for  his  arrest.  Several  warrants  were  drawn, 
all  of  which,  on  the  ground  that  they  were  legally 
dubious,  the  resident  justice  of  the  peace  refused  to 
sign. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  get  the  town  mixed  up  in  a 
lawsuit  for  damages,"  said  the  justice.  "  Lurvey  is  a 
doughty  fighter  at  law,  as  well  as  physically,  and  he  has 
got  the  money  to  fight  with." 

The  proceedings  hung  fire  for  a  week  or  more.  The 
school  board  sent  an  order  to  the  master  not  to  hear  old 
Zack's  lessons  or  to  give  him  any  instructions  whatever. 
But  the  old  fellow  came  to  school  just  the  same,  and 
poor  Cobb  had  to  get  along  with  him  as  best  he  could. 
The  school  board  was  not  eager  again  to  try  putting 
him  out  by  force,  and  it  seemed  that  nothing  less  than 
the  state  militia  could  oust  him  from  the  schoolhouse ; 
and  that  would  need  an  order  from  the  governor  of  the 
state !  On  the  whole,  public  opinion  rather  favored  his 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     41 

being  allowed  to  pay  his  tuition  and  to  go  to  school  if 
he  felt  the  need  of  it. 

At  any  rate,  he  went  to  school  there  all  winter  and 
made  remarkable  progress.  In  the  course  of  ten  weeks 
he  could  read  slowly,  and  he  knew  most  of  the  short 
words  in  his  primer  and  second  reader  by  sight. 
Longer  words  he  would  not  try  to  pronounce,  but 
called  them,  each  and  all,  "  jackass  "  as  fast  as  he  came 
to  them. 

In  consequence  his  reading  aloud  was  highly  am- 
biguous. He  could  write  his  name  slowly  and  with 
many  grimaces. 

Figures,  for  some  reason,  came  much  easier  to  him 
than  the  alphabet.  He  learned  the  numerals  in  a  few 
days,  and  by  the  fifth  or  sixth  week  of  school  he  could 
add  and  subtract  on  his  slate.  But  the  multiplication 
table  gave  him  serious  trouble.  The  only  way  he  suc- 
ceeded in  learning  it  at  all  was  by  singing  it.  After  he 
began  to  do  sums  in  multiplication  on  his  slate,  he  was 
likely  to  burst  forth  singing  in  school  hours : 

"  Seven  times  eight  are  fifty-six 

— and  carry  five. 
Seven  times  nine  are  sixty-three 
— and  carry  seven. 
No,  no,  no,  no,  carry  six !  " 

"  But,  Mr.  Lurvey,  you  must  keep  quiet  in  school !  " 
the  afflicted  master  remonstrated  for  the  hundredth 
time.  "  No  one  else  can  study." 

"  But  I  can't!  "  old  Zack  would  reply.  "  Twouldn't 
come  to  me  'less  I  sung  it !  " 

Toward  the  last  weeks  of  the  term  he  was  able  to 
multiply  with  considerable  accuracy  and  to  divide  in 
short  division.  Long  division  he  did  not  attempt,  but 
he  rapidly  learned  to  cast  interest  at  six  per  cent.  He 
had  had  a  way  of  arriving  at  that  with  beans,  before 
he  came  to  school;  and  no  one  had  ever  succeeded  in 


42    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

cheating  him.  He  knew  about  interest  money,  he  said, 
by  "  sense  of  feeling." 

Grammar  he  saw  no  use  for,  and  did  not  bother  him- 
self with  it;  but,  curiously  enough,  he  was  delighted 
with  geography  and  toward  the  end  of  the  term  bought 
a  copy  of  Cornell's  text-book,  which  was  then  used  in 
Maine  schools. 

What  most  interested  him  wTas  to  trace  rivers  on  the 
maps  and  to  learn  their  names.  Cities  he  cared  nothing 
for;  but  he  loved  to  learn  about  the  mountain  ranges 
where  pine  and  spruce  grew. 

r'  What  places  them  would  be  for  sawmills !  "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

Much  as  he  liked  his  new  geography,  however,  he 
had  grown  violently  angry  over  the  first  lesson  and  de- 
clared with  strong  language  that  it  was  all  a  lie !  The 
master  had  read  aloud  to  him  the  first  lesson,  which 
describes  the  earth  as  one  of  the  planets  that  revolve 
round  the  sun,  and  which  says  that  it  is  a  globe  or 
sphere,  turning  on  its  axis  once  in  twenty-four  hours 
and  so  causing  day  and  night. 

Old  Zack  listened  incredulously.  "  I  don't  believe  a 
word  of  that!  "  he  declared  flatly. 

The  master  labored  with  him  for  some  time,  trying 
to  convince  him  that  the  earth  is  round  and  moves,  but 
it  was  quite  in  vain. 

"No  such  thing!"  old  Zack  exclaimed.  "I  know 
better !  That's  the  biggest  lie  that  ever  was  told !  " 

He  quite  took  it  to  heart  and  continued  talking  about 
it  after  school.  He  really  seemed  to  believe  that  a 
great  and  dangerous  delusion  had  gone  abroad. 

"  It's  wrong,"  he  said,  "  puttin'  sich  stuff  as  that  into 
young  ones'  heads.  It  didn't  oughter  be  'lowed !  " 

What  old  Zack  was  saying  about  the  earth  spread 
abroad  and  caused  a  great  deal  of  amusement.  Certain 
waggish  persons  began  to  "  josh  "  him  and  others  tried 
to  argue  with  him,  but  all  such  attempts  merely  roused 
his  native  obstinacy.  One  Sunday  evening  he  gave  a 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     43 

somewhat  wrong  direction  to  the  weekly  prayer  meet- 
ing by  rising  to  warn  the  people  that  their  children 
were  being  taught  a  pack  of  lies;  and  such  was  his 
vehemence  that  the  regular  Sabbath  service  resolved 
itself  into  a  heated  debate  on  the  contour  of  the  earth. 

Perhaps  old  Zack  believed  that,  as  a  recently  edu- 
cated man,  it  had  become  his  duty  to  set  things  right  in 
the  public  mind. 

The  day  before  school  closed  he  went  to  his  late 
antagonist,  the  lawyer  on  the  school  board,  and  again 
offered  to  pay  the  twenty  dollars  for  his  tuition.  After 
formally  expelling  him  from  school,  however,  the 
board  did  not  dare  to  accept  the  money,  and  old  Zack 
gave  it  to  the  long-suffering  Master  Cobb. 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE   SAD   ABUSE   OF   OLD    HERITABLE 

A3OUT  this  time  there  occurred  a  domestic  episode 
with  which  Halstead  was  imperishably  connected 
in  the  family  annals. 

In  those  days  the  family  butter  was  churned  in  the 
kitchen  by  hand  power,  and  often  laboriously,  in  an 
upright  dasher  churn  which  Addison  and  Theodora 
had  christened  Old  Mehitable.  The  butter  had  been  a 
long  time  coming  one  morning;  but  finally  the  cream 
which  for  an  hour  or  more  had  been  thick,  white  and 
mute  beneath  the  dasher  strokes  began  to  swash  in  a 
peculiar  way,  giving  forth  after  each  stroke  a  sound 
that  they  thought  resembled,  Mehitable — Mehitable — 
Mehitable. 

That  old  churn  was  said  to  be  sixty-six  years  old 
even  then.  There  was  little  to  wear  out  in  the  old- 
fashioned  dasher  churns,  made  as  they  were  of  well- 
seasoned  pine  or  spruce,  with  a  "  butter  cup  "  turned 
from  a  solid  block  of  birch  or  maple,  and  the  dasher 
staff  of  strong  white  ash.  One  of  them  sometimes 
outlasted  two  generations  of  housewives;  they  were 
simple,  durable  and  easily  kept  clean,  but  hard  to 
operate. 

Our  acquaintance  with  Mehitable  had  begun  very 
soon  after  our  arrival  at  the  old  farm.  I  remember 
that  one  of  the  first  things  the  old  Squire  said  to  us 
was,  "  Boys,  now  that  our  family  is  so  largely  in- 
creased, I  think  that  you  will  have  to  assist  your 
grandmother  with  the  dairy  work,  particularly  the 
churning,  which  comes  twice  a  week." 

Tuesdays  and  Fridays  were  the  churning  days,  and 
on  those  mornings  I  remember  that  we  were  wont  to 

44 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    45 

peer  into  the  kitchen  as  we  came  to  breakfast  and 
mutter  the  unwelcome  tidings  to  one  another  that  old 
Mehitable  was  out  there  waiting — tidings  followed 
immediately  by  two  gleeful  shouts  of,  "  It  isn't  my 
turn ! " — and  glum  looks  from  the  one  of  us  whose 
unfortunate  lot  it  was  to  ply  the  dasher. 

Addison,  I  recollect,  used  to  take  his  turn  without 
much  demur  or  complaint,  and  he  had  a  knack  of  get- 
ting through  with  it  quickly  as  a  rule,  especially  in 
sfammer.  None  of  us  had  much  trouble  during  the 
warm  season.  It  was  in  November,  December  and 
January,  when  cold  cream  did  not  properly  "  ripen  " 
and  the  cows  were  long  past  their  freshening,  that 
those  protracted,  wearying  sessions  at  the  churn  began. 
Then,  indeed,  our  annual  grievance  against  grand- 
mother Ruth  burst  forth  afresh.  For,  like  many  an- 
other veteran  housewife,  the  dear  old  lady  was  very 
"  set "  on  having  her  butter  come  hard,  and  hence 
averse  to  raising  the  temperature  of  the  cream  above 
fifty-six  degrees.  Often  that  meant  two  or  three  hours 
of  hard,  up-and-down  work  at  the  churn. 

In  cold  weather,  too,  the  cream  sometimes  "  swelled  " 
in  the  churn,  becoming  so  stiff  as  to  render  it  nearly 
impossible  to  force  the  dasher  through  it;  and  we 
would  lift  the  entire  churn  from  the  floor  in  our  efforts 
to  work  it  up  and  down.  At  such  times  our  toes  suf- 
fered, and  we  we're  wont  to  call  loudly  for  Theodora 
and  Ellen  to  come  and  hold  the  churn  down,  a  task  that 
they  undertook  with  misgivings. 

What  exasperated  us  always  was  the  superb  calmness 
with  which  grandmother  Ruth  viewed  those  struggles, 
going  placidly  on  with  her  other  duties  as  if  our  woes 
were  all  in  the  natural  order  of  the  universe.  The 
butter,  eggs  and  poultry  were  her  perquisites  in  the 
matter  of  farm  products,  and  we  were  apt  to  accuse 
her  of  hard-heartedness  in  her  desire  to  make  them 
yield  income. 

Addison,  I  remember,  had  a  prop  that  he  inserted  and 


46    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

drove  tight  with  a  mallet  between  a  beam  overhead  and 
the  top  of  the  churn  when  the  cream  "  swelled  " ;  but 
neither  Halstead  nor  I  was  ever  able  to  adjust  the  prop 
skillfully  enough  to  keep  it  from  falling  down  on  our 
heads. 

And  we  suspected  Addison  of  pouring  warm  water 
into  the  churn  when  grandmother's  back  was  turned, 
though  we  never  actually  caught  him  at  it.  Sometimes 
when  he  churned,  the  butter  "  came  "  suspiciously  soft, 
to  grandmother's  great  dissatisfaction,  since  she  had 
special  customers  for  her  butter  at  the  village  and  was 
proud  of  its  uniform  quality. 

With  the  kindly  aid  of  the  girls,  especially  Ellen,  I 
usually  got  through  my  turn  after  a  fashion.  I  was 
crafty  enough  to  keep  their  sympathy  and  good  offices 
enlisted  on  my  side. 

But  poor  Halstead !  There  was  pretty  sure  to  be  a 
rumpus  every  time  his  turn  came.  Nature,  indeed,  had 
but  poorly  fitted  him  for  churning,  or,  in  fact,  for  any 
form  of  domestic  labor  that  required  sustained  effort 
and  patience.  He  had  a  kind  heart ;  but  his  temper  was 
stormy.  When  informed  that  his  turn  had  come  to 
churn,  he  almost  always  disputed  it  hotly.  Afterwards 
he  was  likely  to  fume  a  while  and  finally  go  about  the 
task  in  so  sullen  a  mood  that  the  girls  were  much  in- 
clined to  leave  him  to  his  own  devices.  Looking  back 
at  our  youthful  days,  I  see  plainly  now  that  we  were 
often  uncharitable  toward  Halstead.  He  was,  I  must 
admit,  a  rather  difficult  boy  to  get  on  with,  hasty  of 
temper  and  inclined  to  act  recklessly.  There  were  no 
doubt  physical  causes  for  those  defects;  but  Addison 
and  I  thought  he  might  do  better  if  he  pleased.  He 
and  Addison  were  about  the  same  age,  and  I  was  two 
and  a  half  years  younger.  Halstead,  in  fact,  was 
slightly  taller  than  Addison,  but  not  so  strong.  His 
complexion  was  darker  and  not  so  clear ;  and  I  imagine 
that  he  was  not  so  healthy.  Once,  I  remember,  when 
Dr.  Green  from  the  village  was  at  the  house,  he  cast  a 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     47 

professional  eye  on  us  three  boys  and  remarked,  "  That 
dark  boy's  blood  isn't  so  good  as  that  of  the  other  two," 
a  remark  that  Halstead  appears  to  have  overheard. 

None  the  less,  he  was  strong-  enough  to  work  when 
he  chose,  though  he  complained  constantly  and  shirked 
when  he  could. 

On  the  Friday  morning  referred  to,  it  had  come 
Halstead's  turn  "  to  stand  up  with  old  Mehitable,"  as 
Ellen  used  to  say ;  and  after  the  usual  heated  argument 
he  had  set  about  it  out  in  the  kitchen  in  a  particularly 
wrathy  mood.  It  was  snowing  outside.  The  old 
Squire  had  driven  to  the  village ;  and,  after  doing  the 
barn  chores,  Addison  had  retired  to  the  sitting-room  to 
cipher  out  two  or  three  hard  sums  in  complex  fractions 
while  I  had  seized  the  opportunity  to  read  a  book  of 
Indian  stories  that  Tom  Edwards  had  lent  me.  After 
starting  the  churning,  grandmother  Ruth,  assisted  by 
the  girls,  was  putting  in  order  the  bedrooms  upstairs. 

Through  a  crack  of  the  unlatched  door  that  led  to 
the  kitchen,  we  heard  Halstead  churning  casually, 
muttering  to  himself  and  plumping  the  old  churn  about 
the  kitchen  floor.  Several  times  he  had  shouted  for 
the  girls  to  come  and  help  him  hold  it  down ;  and  pres- 
ently we  heard  him  ordering  Nell  to  bid  grandmother 
Ruth  pour  hot  milk  into  the  churn. 

"  It's  as  cold  as  ice !  "  he  cried.  "  It  never  will  come 
in  the  world  till  it  is  warmed  up !  Here  I  have  churned 
for  two  hours,  steady,  and  no  signs  of  the  butter's 
coming — and  it  isn't  my  turn  either !  " 

We  had  heard  Halstead  run  on  so  much  in  that  same 
strain,  however,  that  neither  Addison  nor  I  paid  much 
attention  to  it. 

Every  few  moments,  however,  he  continued  shout- 
ing for  some  one  to  come  and  help;  and  presently, 
when  grandma  Ruth  came  downstairs  for  a  moment 
to  see  how  matters  were  going  on,  we  heard  him  plead- 
ing angrily  with  her  to  pour  in  hot  milk. 

"  Make  the  other  boys  come  and  help !  "  he  cried 


48    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

after  her  as  she  was  calmly  returning  upstairs.  "  Make 
them  come  and  churn  a  spell.  Their  blood  is  better'n 
mine!" 

"  Oh,  I  guess  your  blood  is  good  enough,"  the  old 
lady  replied,  laughing. 

Silence  for  a  time  followed  that  last  appeal.  Hal- 
stead  seemed  to  have  resigned  himself  to  his  task. 
Addison's  pencil  ciphered  away;  and  I  grew  absorbed 
in  Colter's  flight  from  the  Indians. 

Before  long,  however,  a  pungent  odor,  as  of  fat  on 
a  hot  stove,  began  to  pervade  the  house.  Addison 
looked  up  and  sniffed.  Just  then  we  heard  Theodora 
race  suddenly  down  the  hall  stairs,  speed  to  the  other 
door  of  the  kitchen,  then  cry  out  and  go  flying  back 
upstairs.  An  instant  later  she  and  Ellen  rushed  down, 
with  grandmother  Ruth  hard  after  them.  Evidently 
something  was  going  wrong.  Addison  and  I  made  for 
the  kitchen  door,  for  we  heard  grandmother  exclaim 
in  tones  of  deepest  indignation,  "  O  you  Halstead ! 
What  have  you  done !  " 

Halstead  had  set  the  old  churn  on  top  of  the  hot 
stove,  placed  a  chair  close  against  it,  and  was  standing 
on  the  chair,  churning  with  might  and  main. 

His  head,  as  he  plied  the  dasher,  was  almost  touch- 
ing the  ceiling ;  his  face  was  as  red  as  a  beet.  He  had 
filled  the  stove  with  dry  wood,  and  the  bottom  of  the 
churn  was  smoking;  the  chimes  were  warping  out  of 
their  grooves,  and  cream  was  leaking  on  the  stove. 
The  kitchen  reeked  with  the  smoke  and  odor. 

After  one  horrified  glance,  grandmother  rushed  in, 
snatched  the  churn  off  the  stove  and  bore  it  to  the  sink. 
Her  indignation  was  too  great  for  "  Christian  words," 
as  the  old  lady  sometimes  expressed  it  in  moments  of 
great  domestic  provocation.  "  Get  the  slop  pails,"  she 
said  in  low  tones  to  Ellen  and  Theodora.  '  'Tis  spoiled. 
The  whole  churning  is  smoked  and  spoiled — and  the 
churn,  too !  " 

Halstead,  meantime,  was  getting  down   from  the 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    49 

chair,  still  very  hot  and  red.  "  Well,  I  warmed  the  old 
thing  up  once ! "  he  muttered  defiantly.  "  'Twas  coming, 
too.  'Twould  have  come  in  one  minute  more!  " 

But  neither  grandmother  nor  the  girls  vouchsafed 
him  another  look.  After  a  glance  round,  Addison 
drew  back,  shutting  the  kitchen  door,  and  resumed  his 
pencil.  He  shook  his  head  sapiently  to  me,  but  seemed 
to  be  rocked  by  internal  mirth.  "  Now,  wasn't  that 
just  like  Halse?  "  he  muttered  at  length. 

"  What  do  you  think  the  old  Squire  will  say  to 
this?"  I  hazarded. 

"  Oh,  not  much,  I  guess,"  Addison  replied,  going  on 
with  his  problem.  "  The  old  gentleman  doesn't  think 
it  is  of  much  use  to  talk  to  him.  Halse,  you  know, 
flies  all  to  pieces  if  he  is  reproved." 

In  point  of  fact  I  do  not  believe  the  old  Squire  took 
the  matter  up  with  Halstead  at  all.  He  did  not  come 
home  until  afternoon,  and  no  one  said  much  to  him 
about  what  had  happened  during  the  morning. 

But  we  had  to  procure  a  new  churn  immediately  for 
the  following  Tuesday.  Old  Mehitable  was  totally 
ruined.  The  bottom  and  the  lower  ends  of  the  chimes 
were  warped  and  charred  beyond  repair. 

Largely  influenced  by  Addison's  advice,  grand- 
mother Ruth  consented  to  the  purchase  of  one  of  the 
new  crank  churns.  For  a  year  or  more  he  had  been 
secretly  cogitating  a  scheme  to  avoid  so  much  tiresome 
work  when  churning;  and  a  crank  churn,  he  foresaw, 
would  lend  itself  to  such  a  project  much  more  readily 
than  a  churn  with  an  upright  dasher.  It  was  a  plan 
that  finally  took  the  form  of  a  revolving  shaft  over- 
head along  the  walk  from  the  kitchen  to  the  stable, 
where  it  was  actuated  by  a  light  horse-power.  Little 
belts  descending  from  this  shaft  operated  not  only  the 
churn  but  a  washing  machine,  a  wringer,  a  corn 
sheller,  a  lathe  and  several  other  machines  with  so 
much  success  and  saving  of  labor  that  even  grand- 
mother herself  smiled  approvingly. 


50    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

"  And  that's  all  due  to  me !  "  Halstead  used  to  ex- 
claim once  in  a  while.  "  If  I  hadn't  burnt  up  that  old 
churn,  we  would  be  tugging  away  at  it  to  this  day !  " 

"  Yes,  Halse,  you  are  a  wonderful  boy  in  the 
kitchen!  "  Ellen  would  remark  roguishly. 


CHAPTER   VII 

BEAR-TONE 

ONE  day  about  the  first  of  February,  Catherine 
Edwards  made  the  rounds  of  the  neighborhood 
with  a  subscription  paper  to  get  singers  for  a 
singing  school.  A  veteran  "  singing  master  " — Seth 
Clark,  well  known  throughout  the  country — had  of- 
fered to  give  the  young  people  of  the  place  a  course  of 
twelve  evening  lessons  or  sessions  in  vocal  music,  at 
four  dollars  per  evening ;  and  Catherine  was  endeavor- 
ing to  raise  the  sum  of  forty-eight  dollars  for  this 
purpose. 

Master  Clark  was  to  meet  us  at  the  district  school- 
house  for  song  sessions  of  two  hours,  twice  a  week, 
on  Tuesday  and  Friday  evenings  at  seven  o'clock. 
Among  us  at  the  old  Squire's  we  signed  eight  dollars. 

The  singing  school  did  not  much  interest  me  per- 
sonally, for  the  reason  that  I  did  not  expect  to  attend. 
As  the  Frenchman  said  when  invited  to  join  a  fox 
hunt,  I  had  been.  Two  winters  previously  there  had 
been  a  singing  school  in  an  adjoining  school  district, 
known  as  "  Bagdad/'  where  along  with  others  I  had 
presented  myself  as  a  candidate  for  vocal  culture, 
and  had  fyeen  rejected  on  the  grounds  that  I  lacked 
both  "  time  "  and  "  ear."  What  was  even  less  to  my 
credit,  I  had  been  censured  as  being  concerned  in  a 
disturbance  outside  the  schoolhouse.  That  was  my 
first  winter  in  Maine,  and  the  teacher  at  that  singing 
school  was  not  Seth  Clark,  but  an  itinerant  singing 
master  widely  known  as  "  Bear-Tone." 

As  opportunities  for  musical  instruction  thereabouts 

51 


52    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

were  limited,  the  old  Squire,  who  loved  music  and  who 
was  himself  a  fair  singer,  had  advised  us  to  go.  Five 
of  us,  together  with  our  two  young  neighbors,  Kate 
and  Thomas  Edwards,  drove  over  to  Bagdad  in  a 
three-seated  pung  sleigh. 

The  old  schoolhouse  was  crowded  with  young  people 
when  we  arrived,  and  a  babel  of  voices  burst  on  us  as 
we  drew  rein  at  the  door.  After  helping  the  girls 
from  the  pung,  Addison  and  I  put  up  the  horses  at  a 
farmer's  barn  near  by.  When  we  again  reached  the 
schoolhouse,  a  gigantic  man  in  an  immense,  shaggy 
buffalo  coat  was  just  coming  up.  He  entered  the 
building  a  step  behind  us. 

It  was  Bear-Tone;  and  a  great  hush  fell  on  the 
young  people  as  he  appeared  in  the  doorway.  Squeez- 
ing hurriedly  into  seats  with  the  others,  Addison  and 
I  faced  round.  Bear-Tone  stood  in  front  of  the 
teacher's  desk,  near  the  stovepipe,  rubbing  his  huge 
hands  together,  for  the  night  was  cold.  He  was 
smiling,  too — a  friendly,  genial  smile  that  seemed 
actually  to  brighten  the  room. 

If  he  had  looked  gigantic  to  us  in  the  dim  doorway, 
he  now  looked  colossal.  In  fact,  he  was  six  feet  five 
inches  tall  and  three  feet  across  the  shoulders.  He  had 
legs  like  mill-posts  and  arms  to  match;  he  wore  big 
mittens,  because  he  could  not  buy  gloves  large  enough 
for  his  hands.  He  was  lean  and  bony  rather  than  fat, 
and  weighed  three  hundred  and  twenty  pounds,  it  was 
said. 

His  face  was  big  and  broad,  simple  and  yet  strong ; 
it  was  ringed  round  from  ear  to  ear  with  a  short  but 
very  thick  sandy  beard.  His  eyes  were  blue,  his  hair, 
like  his  beard,  was  sandy.  He  was  almost  forty  years 
old  and  was  still  a  bachelor. 

"  VVal,  young  ones,"  he  said  at  last,  "  reckonin' 
trundle-bed  trash,  there's  a  lot  of  ye,  ain't  there?  " 

His  voice  surprised  me.  From  such  a  massive  man  I 
had  expected  to  hear  a  profound  bass.  Yet  his  voice 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     53 

was  not  distinctly  bass,  it  was  clear  and  flexible.  He 
could  sing  bass,  it  is  true,  but  he  loved  best  to  sing 
tenor,  and  in  that  part  his  voice  was  wonderfully 
sweet. 

As  his  speech  at  once  indicated,  he  was  an  ignorant 
man.  He  had  never  had  musical  instruction ;  he  spoke 
of  soprano  as  "  tribble,"  of  alto  as  "  counter,"  and  of 
baritone  as  "  bear-tone  " — a  mispronunciation  that  had 
given  him  his  nickname. 

But  he  could  sing !  Melody  was  born  in  him,  so  to 
speak,  full-fledged,  ready  to  sing.  Musical  training 
would  have  done  him  no  good,  and  it  might  have  done 
him  harm.  He  could  not  have  sung  a  false  note  if  he 
had  tried ;  discord  really  pained  him. 

"  Wai,  we  may's  well  begin,"  he  said  when  he  had 
thoroughly  warmed  his  hands.  "  What  ye  got  for 
singin'  books  here?  Dulcimers,  or  Harps  of  Judah? 
All  with  Harps  raise  yer  right  hands.  So.  Now  all 
with  Dulcimers,  left  hands.  So.  Harps  have  it. 
Them  with  Dulcimers  better  get  Harps,  if  ye  can, 
'cause  we  want  to  sing  together.  But  to-night  we'll 
try  voices.  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  there  might  be  some 
of  ye  who  might  just  as  well  go  home  and  shell  corn 
as  try  to  sing."  And  he  laughed.  "  So  in  the  first  place 
we'll  see  if  you  can  sing,  and  then  what  part  you  can 
sing,  whether  it's  tribble,  or  counter,  or  bass,  or  tenor. 
The  best  way  for  us  to  find  out  is  to  have  you  sing  the 
scale — the  notes  of  music.  Now  these  are  the  notes  of 
music."  And  without  recourse  to  tuning  fork  he  sang : 

"  Do,  re,  mi,  fa,  sol,  la,  si,  do." 

The  old  schoolhouse  seemed  to  swell  to  the  mellow 
harmony  from  his  big  throat.  To  me  those  eight  notes, 
as  Bear-Tone  sang  them,  were  a  sudden  revelation  of 
what  music  may  be. 

"  I'll  try  you  first,  my  boy,"  he  then  said,  pointing  to 
Newman  Darnley,  a  young  fellow  about  twenty  years 
old  who  sat  at  the  end  of  the  front  row  of  seats.  "  Step 
right  out  here." 


54     A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

Greatly  embarrassed,  Newman  shambled  forth  and, 
turning,  faced  us. 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  the  master,  "  catch  the  key-note 
from  me.  Do!  Now  re — mi,"  and  so  forth. 

Bear-Tone  had  great  difficulty  in  getting  Newman 
through  the  scale.  "  'Fraid  you  never'll  make  a  great 
singer,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "  but  you  may  be  able  to 
grumble  bass  a  little,  if  you  prove  to  have  an  ear  that 
can  follow.  Next  on  that  seat." 

The  pupil  so  designated  was  a  Bagdad  boy  named 
Freeman  Knights.  He  hoarsely  rattled  off,  "  Do,  re, 
mi,  fa,  sol,"  all  on  the  same  tone.  When  Bear-Tone 
had  spent  some  moments  in  trying  to  make  him  rise 
and  fall  on  the  notes,  he  exclaimed : 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  may  be  able  to  drive  oxen,  but 
you'll  never  sing.  It  wouldn't  do  you  any  good  to 
stay  here,  and  as  the  room  is  crowded  the  best  thing 
you  can  do  is  to  run  home." 

Opening  the  door,  he  gave  Freeman  a  friendly  pat 
on  the  shoulder  and  a  push  into  better  air  outside. 

Afterwards  came  Freeman's  sister,  Nellie  Knights; 
she  could  discern  no  difference  between  do  and  la — 
at  which  Bear-Tone  heaved  a  sigh. 

"  Wai,  sis,  you'll  be  able  to  call  chickens,  I  guess, 
because  that's  all  on  one  note,  but  'twouldn't  be  worth 
while  for  you  to  try  to  sing,  or  torment  a  pianner. 
There  are  plenty  of  girls  tormentin'  pianners  now. 
I  guess  you'd  better  go  home,  too ;  it  may  come  on  to 
snow." 

Nellie  departed  angrily  and  slammed  the  door. 
Bear-Tone  looked  after  her.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "'tis 
kind  of  hard  to  say  that  to  a  girl.  Don't  wonder  she's 
a  little  mad.  And  yet,  that's  the  kindest  thing  I  can 
do.  Even  in  Scripter  there  was  the  sheep  and  the 
goats;  the  goats  couldn't  sing,  and  the  sheep  could; 
they  had  to  be  separated." 

He  went  on  testing  voices  and  sending  the  "  goats  " 
home.  Some  of  the  "  goats,"  however,  lingered  round 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     55 

outside,  made  remarks  and  peeped  in  at  the  windows. 
In  an  hour  their  number  had  grown  to  eighteen  or 
twenty. 

Dreading  the  ordeal,  I  slunk  into  a  back  seat.  I  saw 
my  cousin,  Addison,  who  had  a  fairly  good  voice,  join 
the  "  sheep,"  and  then  Theodora,  Ellen,  Kate  and 
Thomas ;  but  I  could  not  escape  the  ordeal  forever,  and 
at  last  my  turn  came.  When  Bear-Tone  bade  me  sing 
the  scale,  fear  so  constricted  my  vocal  cords  that  I 
squealed  rather  than  sang. 

"  Sonny,  there's  lots  of  things  a  boy  can  do  besides 
sing,"  Bear-Tone  said  as  he  laughingly  consigned  me 
to  the  outer  darkness.  "  It's  no  great  blessing,  after 
all."  He  patted  my  shoulder.  "  I  can  sing  a  little,  but 
I've  never  been  good  for  much  else.  So  don't  you  feel 
bad  about  it." 

But  I  did  feel  bad,  and,  joining  the  "  goats  "  out- 
side, I  helped  to  organize  a  hostile  demonstration. 
We  began  to  march  round  the  schoolhouse,  howling 
Yankee  Doodle.  Our  discordant  noise  drew  a  prompt 
response.  The  door  opened  and  Bear-Tone's  huge 
form  appeared. 

"  In  about  one  harf  of  one  minute  more  I'll  be  out 
there  and  give  ye  a  lesson  in  Yankee  Doodle!"  he 
cried,  laughing.  His  tone  sounded  good-natured ;  yet 
for  some  reason  none  of  us  thought  it  best  to  renew 
the  disturbance. 

Most  of  the  "  goats  "  dispersed,  but,  not  wishing  to 
walk  home  alone,  I  hung  round  waiting  for  the  others. 
One  window  of  the  schoolroom  had  been  raised,  and 
through  that  I  watched  proceedings.  Bear-Tone  had 
now  tested  all  the  voices  except  one,  and  his  face 
showed  that  he  had  not  been  having  a  very  pleasant 
time.  Up  in  the  back  seat  there  still  remained  one  girl, 
Helen  Thomas,  who  had,  according  to  common  report, 
a  rather  good  voice;  yet  she  was  so  modest  that  few 
had  ever  heard  her  either  sing  or  recite. 

I  saw  her  come  forward,  when  the  master  beckoned, 


56    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

and  sing  her  do,  re,  mi.  Bear-Tone,  who  had  stood 
waiting  somewhat  apathetically,  came  suddenly  to  at- 
tention. "  Sing  that  again,  little  girl,"  he  said. 

Encouraged  by  his  kind  glance,  Helen  again  sang 
the  scale  in  her  clear  voice.  A  radiant  look  overspread 
Bear-Tone's  big  face. 

"  Wai,  wal !  "  he  cried.  "  But  you've  a  voice,  little 
one!  Sing  that  with  me." 

Big  voice  and  girl's  voice  blended  and  chorded. 

"  Ah,  but  you  will  make  a  singer,  little  one !  "  Bear- 
Tone  exclaimed.  "  Now  sing  Woodland  with  me. 
Never  mind  notes,  sing  by  ear." 

A  really  beautiful  volume  of  sound  came  through 
the  window  at  which  I  listened.  Bear-Tone  and  his 
new-found  treasure  sang  The  Star-Spangled  Banner 
and  several  of  the  songs  of  the  Civil  War,  then  just 
ended — ballads  still  popular  with  us  and  fraught  with 
touching  memories:  Tenting  To-night  on  the  Old 
Camp  Ground,  Dearest  Love,  Do  You  Remember? 
and  Tramp,  Tramp,  Tramp,  the  Boys  Are  Marching. 
Bear-Tone's  rich  voice  chorded  beautifully  with 
Helen's  sweet,  high  notes. 

As  we  were  getting  into  the  pung  to  go  home  after 
the  meeting,  and  Helen  and  her  older  sister,  Elizabeth, 
were  setting  off,  Bear-Tone  dashed  out,  bareheaded, 
with  his  big  face  beaming. 

"  Be  sure  you  come  again,"  he  said  to  her,  in  a  tone 
that  was  almost  imploring.  "  You  can  sing !  Oh,  you 
can  sing!  I'll  teach  you!  I'll  teach  you!  " 

The  singing  school  that  winter  served  chiefly  as  a 
pretty  background  for  Bear-Tone's  delight  in  Helen 
Thomas's  voice,  the  interest  he  took  in  it,  and  the  un- 
tiring efforts  he  made  to  teach  her. 

"  One  of  the  rarest  of  voices! "  he  said  to  the  old 
Squire  one  night  when  he  had  come  to  the  farmhouse 
on  one  of  his  frequent  visits*  "  Not  once  will  you  find 
one  in  fifty  years.  It's  a  deep  tribble.  Why,  Squire, 
that  girl's  voice  is  a  discovery!  And  it  will  grow  in 


BEAR-TONE 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    57 

her,  Squire!  It  is  just  starting-  now,  but  by  the  time 
she's  twenty-five  it  will  come  out  wonderful." 

The  soprano  of  the  particular  quality  that  Bear- 
Tone  called  "  deep  tribble  "  is  that  sometimes  called  a 
"  falcon  "  soprano,  or  dramatic  soprano,  in  distinction 
from  light  soprano.  It  is  better  known  and  more  en- 
thusiastically appreciated  by  those  proficient  in  music 
than  by  the  general  public.  Bear-Tone,  however,  rec- 
ognized it  in  his  new  pupil,  as  if  from  instinct. 

The  other  pupils  were  somewhat  neglected  that 
winter;  but  no  one  complained,  for  it  was  such  a 
pleasure  to  hear  Bear-Tone  and  Helen  sing.  Many 
visitors  came;  and  once  the  old  Squire  attended  a 
meeting,  in  order  to  hear  Bear-Tone's  remarkable 
pupil.  In  Days  of  Old  when  Knights  were  Bold,  dear 
old  Juanita,  and  Roll  on,  Silver  Moon,  were  some  of 
their  favorite  songs,  Still  a  "  goat/'  and  always  a 
"goat,"  I  am  not  capable  of  describing  music;  but 
school  and  visitors  sat  enchanted  when  Helen  and 
Bear-Tone  sang. 

Helen's  parents  were  opposed  to  having  their 
daughter  become  a  professional  singer.  They  were 
willing  that  she  should  sing  in  church  and  at  funerals, 
but  not  in  opera.  For  a  long  time  Bear-Tone  labored 
to  convince  them  that  a  voice  like  Helen's  has  a  divine 
mission  in  the  world,  to  please,  to  touch  and  to  ennoble 
the  hearts  of  the  people. 

At  last -he  induced  them  to  let  him  take  Helen  to 
Portland,  in  order  that  a  well-known  teacher  there 
might  hear  her  sing  and  give  an  opinion.  Bear-Tone 
was  to  pay  the  expenses  of  the  trip  himself. 

The  city  teacher  was  enthusiastic  over  the  girl  and 
urged  that  she  be  given  opportunity  for  further  study ; 
but  in  view  of  the  opposition  at  home  that  was  not 
easily  managed.  But  Bear-Tone  would  not  be  denied. 
He  sacrificed  the  scanty  earnings  of  a  whole  winter's 
round  of  singing  schools  in  country  school  districts  to 
send  her  to  the  city  for  a  course  of  lessons. 


58    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

The  next  year  the  question  of  her  studying  abroad 
came  up.  If  Helen  were  to  make  the  most  of  her 
voice,  she  must  have  it  trained  by  masters  in  Italy  and 
Paris.  Her  parents  were  unwilling  to  assist  her  to 
cross  the  ocean. 

Bear-Tone  was  a  poor  man;  his  singing  schools 
never  brought  him  more  than  a  few  hundred  dollars  a 
year.  He  owned  a  little  house  in  a  neighboring  village, 
where  he  kept  "  bachelor's  hall " ;  he  had  a  piano,  a 
cabinet  organ,  a  bugle,  a  guitar  and  several  other 
musical  instruments,  including  one  fairly  valuable  old 
violin  from  which  he  was  wont  of  an  evening  to  pro- 
duce wonderfully  sweet,  sad  strains. 

No  one  except  the  officials  of  the  local  savings  bank 
knew  how  Bear-Tone  raised  the  money  for  Helen 
Thomas's  first  trip  abroad,  but  he  did  it.  Long  after- 
wards people  learned  that  he  had  mortgaged  every- 
thing he  possessed,  even  the  old  violin,  in  order  to 
provide  the  necessary  money. 

Helen  went  to  Europe  and  studied  for  two  years. 
She  made  her  debut  at  Milan,  sang  in  several  of  the 
great  cities  on  the  Continent,  and  at  last,  with  a  reputa- 
tion as  a  great  singer  fully  established,  returned  home 
four  years  later  to  sing  in  New  York. 

Bear-Tone  meanwhile  was  teaching  his  singing 
schools,  as  usual,  in  the  rural  districts  of  Maine.  Once 
or  twice  during  those  two  years  of  study  he  had 
managed  to  send  a  little  money  to  Helen,  to  help  out 
with  the  expenses.  Now  he  postponed  his  three  bi- 
weekly schools  for  one  week  and  made  his  first  and 
only  trip  to  New  York — the  journey  of  a  lifetime. 
Perhaps  he  had  at  first  hoped  that  he  might  meet  her 
and  be  welcomed.  If  so,  he  changed  his  mind  on 
reaching  the  metropolis.  Aware  of  his  uncouthness, 
he  resolved  not  to  shame  her  by  claiming  recognition. 
But  he  went  three  times  to  hear  her  sing,  first  in  A'ida, 
then  in  Faust,  and  afterwards  in  Les  Huguenots; 
heard  her  magic  notes,  saw  her  in  all  her  queenly 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     59 

beauty — but  saw  her  from  the  shelter  of  a  pillar  in  the 
rear  of  the  great  opera  house.  On  the  fifth  day  he 
returned  home  as  quietly  as  he  had  gone. 

Perhaps  a  month  after  he  came  back,  while  driving 
to  one  of  his  singing  schools  on  a  bitter  night  in 
February,  he  took  a  severe  cold.  For  lack  of  any 
proper  care  at  his  little  lonesome,  chilly  house,  his  cold 
a  day  or  two  later  turned  into  pneumonia,  and  from 
that  he  died. 

The  savings  bank  took  the  house  and  the  musical 
instruments.  The  piano,  the  organ,  the  old  violin  and 
other  things  were  sold  at  auction.  And  probably 
Helen  Thomas,  whose  brilliant  career  he  had  made 
possible,  never  heard  anything  about  the  circumstances 
of  his  death. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

WHEN    WE    HUNTED   THE   STRIPED    CATAMOUNT 

THE  following  week  Tom  Edwards  and  I  had  a 
somewhat  exciting  adventure  which,  however, 
by  no  means  covered  us  with  glory.  During  the 
previous  winter  and,  indeed,  for  several  winters  be- 
fore that,  there  had  been  rumors  current  of  a  strange, 
fierce  animal  which  came  down,  from  the  "  great 
woods  "  to  devour  dead  lambs  that  were  cast  forth 
from  the  farmers'  barns  in  February  and  March. 

At  that  time  nearly  every  farmer  in  the  vicinity  kept 
a  flock  of  from  fifty  to  a  hundred  sheep.  During-  the 
warm  season  the  animals  got  their  own  living  in  the 
back  pastures;  in  winter  they  were  fed  on  nothing 
better  than  hay.  The  animals  usually  came  out  in  the 
spring  thin  and  weak,  with  the  ewes  in  poor  condi- 
tion to  raise  their  lambs.  In  consequence,  many  of 
the  lambs  died  soon  after  birth,  and  were  thrown 
out  on  the  snow  for  the  crows  and  wild  animals  to 
dispose  of. 

The  old  Squire  had  begun  to  feed  corn  to  his  flock 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  winter,  and  urged  his 
neighbors  to  do  so;  but  many  of  them  did  not  have  the 
corn  and  preferred  to  let  nature  take  its  course. 

The  mysterious  animal  that  the  boys  were  talking 
about  seemed  to  have  formed  the  habit  of  visiting  that 
region  every  spring.  Not  even  the  older  people  knew 
to  what  species  it  belonged.  It  came  round  the  barns 
at  night,  and  no  one  had  ever  seen  it  distinctly.  Some 
believed  it  to  be  a  catamount  or  panther;  others  who 
had  caught  glimpses  of  it  said  that  it  was  a  black 
creature  with  white  stripes. 

60 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    61 

Traps  had  been  set  for  it,  but  always  without  success. 
Mr.  Wilbur,  one  of  the  neighbors,  had  watched  from 
his  barn  and  fired  a  charge  of  buckshot  at  it;  but  im- 
mediately the  creature  had  disappeared  in  the  dark- 
ness, carrying  off  a  lamb.  It  visited  one  place  or  an- 
other nearly  every  night  for  a  month  or  more — as 
long,  indeed,  as  the  supply  of  lambs  held  out.  Then  it 
would  vanish  until  the  following  spring. 

On  the  day  above  referred  to  I  saw  Tom  coming 
across  the  snowy  fields  that  lay  between  the  Edwards' 
farm  and  the  old  Squire's.  Guessing  that  he  had 
something  to  tell  me,  I  hastened  forth  to  meet  him. 

"  That  old  striped  catamount  has  come  round 
again !  "  Tom  exclaimed.  "  He  was  at  Batchelder's 
last  night  and  got  two  dead  lambs.  And  night  before 
last  he  was  at  Wilbur's.  I've  got  four  dead  lambs 
saved  up.  And  old  Hughy  Glinds  has  told  me  a  way 
to  watch  for  him  and  shoot  him." 

Hughy  Glinds  was  a  rheumatic  old  man  who  lived 
in  a  small  log  house  up  in  the  edge  of  the  great  woods 
and  made  baskets  for  a  living.  In  his  younger  days 
he  had  been  a  trapper  and  was  therefore  a  high  au- 
thority in  such  matters  among  the  boys. 

"  We  shall  have  to  have  a  sleigh  or  a  pung  to  watch 
from,"  Tom  explained.  "  Old  Hughy  says  to  carry  out 
a  dead  lamb  and  leave  it  near  the  bushes  below  our 
barn,  and  to  haul  a  sleigh  there  and  leave  it  a  little  way 
off,  and  do  this  for  three  or  four  nights  till  old  Striped 
gets  used  to  seeing  the  sleigh.  Then,  after  he  has  come 
four  nights,  we're  to  go  there  early  in  the  evening 
and  hide  in  the  sleigh,  with  a  loaded  gun.  Old  Striped 
will  be  used  to  seeing  the  sleigh  there,  and  won't  be 
suspicious. 

"  Pa  don't  want  me  to  take  our  sleigh  so  long,"  Tom 
went  on.  "  He  wants  to  use  it  before  we'd  be  through 
with  it.  But  " — and  I  now  began  to  see  why  Tom  had 
been  so  willing  to  share  with  me  the  glory  of  killing 
the  marauder — "  there's  an  old  sleigh  out  here  behind 


62    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

your  barn.  Nobody  uses  it  now.  Couldn't  we  take 
that?" 

I  felt  sure  that  the  old  Squire  would  not  care,  but 
I  proposed  to  ask  the  opinion  of  Addison.  Tom  op- 
posed our  taking  Addison  into  our  confidence. 

"  He's  older,  and  he'd  get  all  the  credit  for  it,"  he 
objected. 

Addison,  moreover,  had  driven  to  the  village  that 
morning ;  and  after  some  discussion  we  decided  to  take 
the  sleigh  on  our  own  responsibility.  It  was  partly 
buried  in  a  snowdrift;  but  we  dug  it  out,  and  then 
drew  it  across  the  fields  on  the  snow  crust — lifting  it 
over  three  stone  walls — to  a  little  knoll  below  the 
Edwards  barn. 

We  concluded  to  lay  the  dead  lamb  on  the  top  of  the 
knoll  at  a  little  distance  from  the  woods ;  the  sleigh  we 
left  on  the  southeast  side  about  fifteen  paces  away. 
Tom  thought  that  he  could  shoot  accurately  at  that 
distance,  even  at  night. 

For  my  own  part  I  thought  fifteen  paces  much  too 
near.  Misgivings  had  begun  to  beset  me. 

"  What  if  you  miss  him,  Tom?  "  I  said. 

"  I  shan't  miss  him,"  he  declared  firmly. 

"  But,  Tom,  what  if  you  only  wounded  him  and  he 
came  rushing  straight  at  us  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'll  fix  him !  "  Tom  exclaimed.  But  I  had  be- 
come very  apprehensive ;  and  at  last,  Tom  helped  me  to 
bring  cedar  rails  and  posts  from  a  fence  near  by  to 
construct  a  kind  of  fortress  round  the  sleigh.  We  set 
the  posts  in  the  hard  snow  and  made  a  fence,  six  rails 
high — to  protect  ourselves.  Even  then  I  was  afraid 
it  might  jump  the  fence. 

"  He  won't  jump  much  with  seven  buckshot  and  a 
ball  in  him !  "  said  Tom. 

We  left  the  empty  sleigh  there  for  three  nights  in 
succession ;  and  every  morning  Tom  came  over  to  tell 
me  that  the  lamb  had  been  taken. 

"  The  plan  works  just  as  old  Hughy  told  me  it 


A  BUSY  YEAH  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    63 

would,"  he  said ;  "  but  I've  got  only  one  lamb  more,  so 
we'll  have  to  watch  to-night.  Don't  tell  anybody,  but 
about  bedtime  you  come  over."  Tom  was  full  of 
eagerness. 

I  was  in  a  feverish  state  of  mind  all  day,  especially 
as  night  drew  on.  If  I  had  not  been  ashamed  to  fail 
Tom,  I  think  I  should  have  backed  out.  At  eight 
o'clock  I  pretended  to  start  for  bed ;  then,  stealing  out 
at  the  back  door,  I  hurried  across  the  fields  to  the 
Edwards  place.  A  new  moon  was  shining  faintly  over 
the  woods  in  the  west. 

Tom  was  in  the  wood-house,  loading  the  gun,  an  old 
army  rifle,  bored  out  for  shot.  "  I've  got  in  six  fingers 
of  powder,"  he  whispered. 

We  took  a  buffalo  skin  and  a  horse  blanket  from  the 
stable,  and  armed  with  the  gun,  and  an  axe  besides, 
proceeded  cautiously  out  to  the  sleigh.  Tom  had  laid 
the  dead  lamb  on  the  knoll. 

Climbing  over  the  fence,  we  ensconced  ourselves  in 
the  old  sleigh.  It  was  a  chilly  night,  with  gusts  of 
wind  from  the  northwest.  We  laid  the  axe  where  it 
would  be  at  hand  in  case  of  need ;  and  Tom  trained  the 
gun  across  the  fence  rail  in  the  direction  of  the  knoll. 

"  Like's  not  he  won't  come  till  toward  morning," 
he  whispered;  "but  we  must  stay  awake  and  keep 
listening  for  him.  Don't  you  go  to  sleep." 

I  thought  that  sleep  was  the  last  thing  I  was  likely 
to  be  guilty  of.  I  wished  myself  at  home.  The  tales 
I  had  heard  of  the  voracity  and  fierceness  of  the  striped 
catamount  were  made  much  more  terrible  by  the  dark- 
ness. My  position  was  so  cramped  and  the  old  sleigh 
so  hard  that  I  had  to  squirm  occasionally;  but  every 
time  I  did  so,  Tom  whispered : 

"  Sh !    Don't  rattle  round.    He  may  hear  us." 

An  hour  or  two,  which  seemed  ages  long,  dragged 
by;  the  crescent  moon  sank  behind  the  tree-tops  and 
the  night  darkened.  At  last,  in  spite  of  myself,  I  grew 
drowsy,  but  every  few  moments  I  started  broad  awake 


64    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

and  clutched  the  handle  of  the  axe.  Several  times 
Tom  whispered : 

"  I  believe  you're  asleep." 

"  I'm  not !  "  I  protested. 

"  Well,  you  jump  as  if  you  were/'  he  retorted. 

By  and  by  Tom  himself  started  spasmodically,  and 
I  accused  him  of  having  slept;  but  he  denied  it  in  a 
most  positive  whisper.  Suddenly,  in  an  interval  be- 
tween two  naps,  I  heard  a  sound  different  from  the 
soughing  of  the  wind,  a  sound  like  claws  or  toenails 
scratching  on  the  snow  crust.  It  came  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  knoll,  or  beyond  it. 

"  Tom,  Tom,  he's  coming!  "  I  whispered. 

Tom,  starting  up  from  a  nap,  gripped  the  gunstock. 
"  Yes,  siree,"  he  said.  "  He  is."  He  cocked  the  gun, 
and  the  barrel  squeaked  faintly  on  the  rail.  "  By  jinks, 
I  see  him!" 

I,  too,  discerned  a  shadowy,  dark  object  at  the  top 
of  the  snow-crusted  knoll.  Tom  was  twisting  round  to 
get  aim  across  the  rail — and  the  next  instant  both  of 
us  were  nearly  kicked  out  of  the  sleigh  by  the  recoil  of 
the  greatly  overloaded  gun.  We  both  scrambled  to 
our  feet,  for  we  heard  an  ugly  snarl.  I  think  the 
animal  leaped  upward;  I  was  sure  I  saw  something 
big  and  black  rise  six  feet  in  the  air,  as  if  it  were 
coming  straight  for  the  sleigh ! 

The  instinct  of  self-preservation  is  a  strong  one. 
The  first  thing  I  realized  I  was  over  the  fence  rails,  on 
the  side  toward  the  Edwards  barn,  running  for  dear 
life  on  the  snow  crust — and  Tom  was  close  behind 
me!  We  never  stopped,  even  to  look  back,  till  we 
were  at  the  barn  and  round  the  farther  corner  of  it. 
There  we  pulled  up  to  catch  our  breath.  Nothing  was 
pursuing  us,  nor  could  we  hear  anything. 

After  we  had  listened  a  while,  Tom  ran  into  the 
house  and  waked  his  father.  Mr.  Edwards,  however, 
was  slow  to  believe  that  we  had  hit  the  animal,  and 
refused  to  dress  and  go  out.  It  was  now  about  two 


A  BUSY  YEAH  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    65 

o'clock.  I  did  not  like  to  go  home  alone,  and  so  went 
to  bed  with  Tom.  In  consequence  of  our  vigils  we 
slept  till  sunrise.  Meanwhile,  on  going  out  to  milk, 
Tom's  father  had  had  the  curiosity  to  visit  the  scene  of 
our  adventure.  A  trail  of  blood  spots  leading  from 
the  knoll  into  the  woods  convinced  him  that  we  had 
really  damaged  the  prowler;  and  picking  up  the  axe 
that  I  had  dropped,  he  followed  the  trail.  Large  red 
stains  at  intervals  showed  that  the  animal  had  stopped 
frequently  to  grovel  on  the  snow.  About  half  a  mile 
from  the  knoll,  Mr.  Edwards  came  upon  the  beast,  in 
a  fir  thicket,  making  distressful  sounds,  and  quite  help- 
less to  defend  itself.  A  blow  on  the  head  from  the 
poll  of  the  axe  finished  the  creature;  and,  taking  it  by 
the  tail,  Mr.  Edwards  dragged  it  to  the  house.  The 
carcass  was  lying  in  the  dooryard  when  Tom's  mother 
waked  us. 

"  Get  up  and  see  your  striped  catamount !  "  she  called 
up  the  chamber  stairs. 

Hastily  donning  our  clothes  we  rushed  down.  Truth 
to  say,  the  "  monster  "  of  so  many  startling  stories 
was  somewhat  disappointing  to  contemplate.  It  was 
far  from  being  so  big  as  we  had  thought  it  in  the  night 
— indeed,  it  was  no  larger  than  a  medium-sized  dog. 
It  had  coarse  black  hair  with  two  indistinct,  yellowish- 
white  stripes,  or  bands,  along  its  sides.  Its  legs  were 
short,  but  strong,  its  claws  white,  hooked  and  about 
an  inch  and  a  quarter  long.  The  head  was  broad  and 
flat,  and  the  ears  were  low  and  wide  apart.  It  was  not 
in  the  least  like  a  catamount.  In  short,  it  was,  as  the 
reader  may  have  guessed,  a  wolverene,  or  glutton,  an 
animal  rarely  seen  in  Maine  even  by  the  early  settlers, 
for  its  habitat  is  much  farmer  north. 

As  Tom  and  I  stood  looking  the  creature  over, 
my  cousin  Theodora  appeared,  coming  from  the  old 
Squire's  to  make  inquiries  for  me.  They  had  missed 
me  and  were  uneasy  about  me. 

During  the  day  every  boy  in  the  neighborhood  came 


66    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

to  see  the  animal,  and  many  of  the  older  people,  too. 
In  fact,  several  people  came  from  a  considerable  dis- 
tance to  look  at  the  beast.  The  "  glory  "  was  Tom's 
for  making  so  good  a  shot  in  the  night,  yet,  in  a  way, 
I  shared  it  with  him. 

"  Don't  you  ever  say  a  word  about  our  running 
from  the  sleigh,"  Tom  cautioned  me  many  times  that 
day,  and  added  that  he  would  never  have  run  except 
for  my  bad  example. 

I  was  obliged  to  put  up  in  silence  with  that  reflection 
on  my  bravery. 


CHAPTER    IX 

THE   LOST   OXEN 

IT  was  now  approaching  time  to  tap  the  maples 
again;  but  owing  to  the  disaster  which  had  be- 
fallen our  effort  to  make  maple  syrup  for  profit  the 
previous  spring,  neither  Addison  nor  myself  felt  much 
inclination  to  undertake  it.  The  matter  was  talked 
over  at  the  breakfast  table  one  morning  and  noting  our 
lukewarmness  on  the  subject,  the  old  Squire  remarked 
that  as  the  sugar  lot  had  been  tapped  steadily  every 
spring  for  twenty  years  or  more,  it  would  be  quite  as 
well  perhaps  to  give  the  maples  a  rest  for  one  season. 

That  same  morning,  too,  Tom  Edwards  came  over 
in  haste  to  tell  us,  with  a  very  sober  face,  that  their 
oxen  had  disappeared  mysteriously,  and  ask  us  to  join 
in  the  search  to  find  them.  They  were  a  yoke  of 
"  sparked  "  oxen — red  and  white  in  contrasting  patches. 
Each  had  wide-spread  horns  and  a  "  star  "  in  his  face. 
Bright  and  Broad  were  their  names,  and  they  were 
eight  years  old. 

Neighbor  Jotham  Edwards  was  one  of  those  simple- 
minded,  hard-working  farmers  who  ought  to  prosper 
but  who  never  do.  It  is  not  easy  to  say  just  what  the 
reason  was  for  much  of  his  ill  fortune.  Born  under  an 
unlucky  planet,  some  people  said;  but  that,  of  course, 
is  childish.  The  real  reason  doubtless  was  lack  of  good 
judgment  in  his  business  enterprises. 

Whatever  he  undertook  nearly  always  turned  out 
badly.  His  carts  and  ploughs  broke  unaccountably, 
his  horses  were  strangely  prone  to  run  away  and  smash 
things,  and  something  was  frequently  the  matter  with 
his  crops.  Twice,  I  remember,  he  broke  a  leg,  and 

67 


68    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

each  time  he  had  to  lie  six  weeks  on  his  back  for  the 
bone  to  knit.  Felons  on  his  fingers  tormented  him; 
and  it  was  a  notable  season  that  he  did  not  have  a  big, 
painful  boil  or  a  bad  cut  from  a  scythe  or  from  an  axe. 
One  mishap  seemed  to  lead  to  another. 

Jotham's  c'onstant  ill  fortune  was  the  more  notice- 
able among  his  neighbors  because  his  father,  Jonathan, 
had  been  a  careful,  prosperous  farmer  who  kept  his 
place  in  excellent  order,  raised  good  crops  and  had  the 
best  cattle  of  any  one  thereabouts.  Within  a  few  years 
after  the  place  had  passed  under  Jotham's  control  it 
was  mortgaged,  the  buildings  and  the  fences  were  in 
bad  repair,  and  the  fields  were  weedy.  Yet  that  man 
worked  summer  and  winter  as  hard  and  as  steadily  as 
ever  a  man  did  or  could. 

Two  winters  before  he  had  contracted  with  old 
Zack  Lurvey  to  cut  three  hundred  thousand  feet  of 
hemlock  logs  and  draw  them  to  the  bank  of  a  small 
river  where  in  the  spring  they  could  be  floated  down  to 
Lurvey 's  Mills.  For  hauling  the  logs  he  had  two 
yokes  of  oxen,  the  yoke  of  large  eight-year-olds  that  I 
have  already  described,  and  another  yoke  of  small, 
white-faced  cattle.  During  the  first  winter  the  off  ox 
of  the  smaller  pair  stepped  into  a  hole  between  two 
roots,  broke  its  leg  and  had  to  be  killed.  Afterwards 
Jotham  worked  the  nigh  ox  in  a  crooked  yoke  in  front 
of  his  larger  oxen  and  went  on  with  the  job  from 
December  until  March. 

But,  as  all  teamsters  know,  oxen  that  are  worked 
hard  all  day  in  winter  weather  require  corn  meal  or 
other  equally  nourishing  provender  in  addition  to  hay. 
Now,  Jotham  had  nothing  for  his  team  except  hay  of 
inferior  quality.  In  consequence,  as  the  winter  ad- 
vanced the  cattle  lost  flesh  and  became  very  weak.  By 
March  they  could  scarcely  walk  with  their  loads,  and 
at  last  there  came  a  morning  when  Jotham  could  not 
get  the  older  oxen  even  to  rise  to  their  feet.  He  was 
obliged  to  give  up  work  with  them,  and  finally  came 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    69 

home  after  turning  them  loose  to  help  themselves  to 
what  hay  was  left  at  the  camp. 

The  old  Squire  did  not  often  concern  himself  with 
the  affairs  of  his  neighbors,  but  he  went  up  to  the 
logging  camp  with  Jotham;  and  when  he  saw  the 
pitiful  condition  the  cattle  were  in  he  remonstrated 
with  him. 

"  This  is  too  bad,"  he  said.  "  You  have  worked 
these  oxen  nearly  to  death,  and  you  haven't  half  fed 
them!" 

"  Wai,  my  oxen  don't  have  to  work  any  harder  than 
I  do ! "  Jotham  replied  angrily.  "  I  ain't  able  to  buy 
corn  for  them.  They  must  work  without  it." 

"  You  only  lose  by  such  a  foolish  course,"  the  old 
Squire  said  to  him. 

B'it  Jotham  was  not  a  man  who  could  easily  be  con- 
vinced of  his  errors.  All  his  affairs  were  going  badly ; 
arguing  with  him  only  made  him  impatient. 

The  snow  was  now  so  soft  that  the  oxen  in  their 
emaciated  and  weakened  condition  could  not  be  driven 
home,  and  again  Jotham  left  them  at  the  camp  to  help 
themselves  to  fodder.  He  promised,  however,  to  send 
better  hay  and  some  potatoes  up  to  them  the  next  day. 
But  during  the  following  night  a  great  storm  set  in 
that  carried  off  nearly  all  the  snow  and  caused  such  a 
freshet  in  the  streams  and  the  brooks  that  it  was  im- 
practicable to  reach  the  camp  for  a  week  or  longer. 
Then  one  night  the  small,  white-faced  ox  made  his 
appearance  at  the  Edwards  barn,  having  come  home  of 
his  own  accord. 

The  next  morning  Jotham  went  up  on  foot  to  see 
how  his  other  cattle  were  faring.  The  flood  had  now 
largely  subsided ;  but  it  was  plain  that  during  the  storm 
the  water  had  flowed  back  round  the  camp  to  a  depth 
of  several  feet.  The  oxen  were  nowhere  to  be  seen, 
nor  could  he  discern  their  tracks  round  the  camp  or 
in  the  woods  that  surrounded  it.  He  tried  to  track 
them  with  a  dog,  but  without  success. 


70    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

Several  of  Jotham's  neighbors  assisted  him  in  the 
search.  Where  the  oxen  had  gone  or  what  had  be- 
come of  them  was  a  mystery;  the  party  searched  the 
forest  in  vain  for  a  distance  of  five  or  six  miles  on  all 
sides.  Some  of  the  men  thought  that  the  oxen  had 
fallen  into  the  stream  and  had  drowned;  it  was  not 
likely  that  they  had  been  stolen.  Jotham  was  at  last 
obliged  to  buy  another  yoke  of  cattle  in  order  to  do  his 
spring  work  on  the  farm. 

Two  years  passed,  and  Jotham's  oxen  were  almost 
forgotten.  During  the  second  winter,  after  school  had 
closed  in  the  old  Squire's  district,  Willis  Murch,  a 
young  friend  of  mine  who  lived  near  us,  went  on  a 
trapping  trip  to  the  headwaters  of  Lurvey's  Stream, 
where  the  oxen  had  disappeared  and  where  he  had  a 
camp.  One  Saturday  he  came  home  for  supplies  and 
invited  me  to  go  back  with  him  and  spend  Sunday. 
The  distance  was  perhaps  fourteen  miles ;  and  we  had 
to  travel  on  snowshoes,  for  at  the  time — it  was  Febru- 
ary— the  snow  was  nearly  four  feet  deep  in  the  woods. 
We  had  a  fine  time  there  in  camp  that  night  and  the 
next  morning  went  to  look  at  Willis's  traps. 

That  afternoon,  after  we  had  got  back  to  camp  and 
cooked  our  dinner,  Willis  said  to  me,  "  Now,  if  you 
will  promise  not  to  tell,  I'll  show  you  something  that 
will  make  you  laugh." 

I  promised  readily  enough,  without  thinking  much 
about  the  matter. 

"  Come  on,  then,"  said  he;  and  we  put  on  our  snow- 
shoes  again  and  prepared  to  start.  But,  though  I 
questioned  him  with  growing  curiosity,  he  would  not 
tell  me  what  we  were  to  see.  "  Oh,  you'll  find  out  soon 
enough,"  he  said. 

Willis  led  off,  and  I  followed.  I  should  think  we 
went  as  much  as  five  miles  through  the  black  growth 
to  the  north  of  Willis's  camp  and  came  finally  to  a 
frozen  brook,  which  we  followed  for  a  mile  round  to 
the  northeast. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    71 

"  I  was  prospecting  up  this  way  a  week  ago,"  Willis 
said.  "  I  had  an  idea  of  setting  traps  on  this  brook. 
It  flows  into  a  large  pond  a  little  way  ahead  of  us,  but 
just  before  we  get  to  the  pond  it  winds  through  a 
swamp  of  little  spotted  maple,  moose  bush  and  alder." 

"  I  guess  it's  beaver  you're  going  to  show  me,"  I 
remarked. 

"  Guess  again,"  said  Willis,  "  But  keep  still.  Step 
in  my  tracks  and  don't  make  the  brush  crack." 

The  small  growth  was  so  thick  that  we  could  see 
only  a  little  way  ahead.  Willis  pushed  slowly  through 
it  for  some  time ;  then,  stopping  short,  he  motioned  to 
me  over  his  shoulder  to  come  forward.  Not  twenty 
yards  away  I  distinguished  the  red-and- white  hair  of  a 
large  animal  that  was  browsing  on  a  clump  of  bushes. 
It  stood  in  a  pathway  trodden  so  deep  into  the  snow 
that  its  legs  were  completely  hidden.  In  surprise  I  saw 
that  it  had  broad  horns. 

"  Why,  that's  an  ox !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,"  said  Willis,  laughing.  "  His  mate  is  round 
here,  too." 

"  Willis,"  I  almost  shouted,  "  they  must  be  the  oxen 
Jotham  lost  two  years  ago !  " 

"  Sure !  "  said  Willis.  "  But  don't  make  such  a  noise. 
There  are  moose  here." 

"  Moose !  "  I  whispered. 

"  There's  a  cow  moose  with  two  moose  calves. 
When  I  was  here  last  Thursday  afternoon  there  were 
three  deer  with  them.  The  snow's  got  so  deep  they  are 
yarding  here  together.  They  get  water  at  the  brook, 
and  I  saw  where  they  had  dug  down  through  the  snow 
to  get  to  the  dry  swamp  grass  underneath.  They  won't 
leave  their  yard  if  we  don't  scare  them ;  they  couldn't 
run  in  the  deep  snow." 

We  thought  that  probably  the  oxen  had  grown  wild 
from  being  off  in  the  woods  so  long.  However,  Willis 
advanced  slowly,  calling,  "  Co-boss !  "  Seeing  us  com- 
ing and  hearing  human  voices,  the  old  ox  lifted  his 


72    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

muzzle  toward  us  and  snuffed  genially.  He  did  not 
appear  to  be  afraid,  but  behaved  as  if  he  were  glad  to 
see  us.  The  other  one — old  Broad — had  been  lying 
down  near  by  out  of  sight  in  the  deep  pathway,  but 
now  he  suddenly  rose  and  stood  staring  at  us.  We  ap- 
proached to  within  ten  feet  of  them.  They  appeared 
to  be  in  fairly  good  flesh,  and  their  hair  seemed  very 
thick.  Evidently  they  had  wandered  off  from  the 
logging  camp  and  had  been  living  a  free,  wild  life  ever 
since.  In  the  small  open  meadows  along  the  upper 
course  of  the  stream  there  was  plenty  of  wild  grass. 
And,  like  deer,  cattle  will  subsist  in  winter  on  the  twigs 
of  freshly  grown  bushes.  Even  such  food  as  that, 
with  freedom,  was  better  than  the  cruel  servitude  of 
Jotham ! 

On  going  round  to  the  far  side  of  the  yard  we  spied 
the  three  deer,  the  cow  moose  and  her  two  yearling 
calves.  They  appeared  unwilling  to  run  away  in  the 
deep  snow,  but  would  not  let  us  approach  near  enough 
to  see  them  clearly  through  the  bushes. 

"  You  could  shoot  one  of  those  deer,"  I  said  to 
Willis;  but  he  declared  that  he  would  never  shoot  a 
deer  or  a  moose  when  it  was  snow-bound  in  a  yard. 

We  lingered  near  the  yard  for  an  hour  or  more.  By 
speaking  kindly  to  the  oxen  I  found  that  I  could  go 
very  close  to  them;  they  had  by  no  means  forgotten 
human  beings.  On  our  way  back  to  Willis's  camp  he 
reminded  me  of  my  promise.  "  Now,  don't  you  tell 
where  those  oxen  are ;  don't  tell  anybody !  " 

"  But,  Willis,  don't  you  think  Jotham  ought  to 
know  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  I  don't!  "  Willis  exclaimed.  "  He  has  abused 
those  oxen  enough!  They've  got  away  from  him, 
and  I'm  glad  of  it!  I'll  never  tell  him  where  they 
are!" 

We  argued  the  question  all  the  way  to  camp,  and  at 
last  Willis  said  bluntly  that  he  should  not  have  taken 
me  to  see  them  if  he  had  thought  that  I  would  tell. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    73 

"  You  promised  not  to,"  said  he.  That  was  true,  and 
there  the  matter  rested  overnight. 

When  I  started  home  the  next  morning  Willis 
walked  with  me  for  two  miles  or  more.  We  had  not 
mentioned  Jotham's  oxen  since  the  previous  after- 
noon ;  but  I  plainly  saw  that  Willis  had  been  thinking 
the  matter  over,  for,  after  we  separated  and  had  each 
gone  a  few  steps  on  his  way,  he  called  after  me : 

"  Are  you  going  to  tell  about  that?  " 

"  No,"  said  I,  and  walked  on. 

"  Well,  if  you're  not  going  to  feel  right  about  it, 
ask  the  old  Squire  what  he  thinks.  If  he  says  that 
Jotham  ought  to  be  told,  perhaps  you  had  better  tell 
him."  And  Willis  hastened  away. 

But  on  reaching  home  I  found  that  the  old  Squire 
had  set  off  for  Portland  early  that  morning  to  see 
about  selling  his  lumber  and  was  not  to  return  for  a 
week.  So  I  said  nothing  to  any  one.  The  night  after 
he  got  back  I  watched  for  a  chance  to  speak  with  him 
alone.  After  supper  he  went  into  the  sitting-room 
to  look  over  his  lumber  accounts,  and  I  stole  in  after 
him. 

'  You  remember  Jotham's  oxen,  gramp?  "  I  began. 

:<  Why,  yes,"  said  he,  looking  up. 

;<  Well,  I  know  where  they  are,"  I  continued. 

11  Where?  "  he  exclaimed  in  astonishment. 

I  then  told  him  where  Willis  had  found  them  and 
about  the  yard  and  the  moose  and  deer  we  had  seen 
with  the  oxen.  "  Willis  doesn't  want  Jotham  told," 
I  added.  "  He  says  Jotham  has  abused  those  oxen 
enough,  and  that  he  is  glad  they  got  away  from  him. 
He  made  me  promise  not  to  tell  any  one  at  first,  but 
finally  he  said  that  I  might  tell  you,  and  that  we  should 
do  as  you  think  best." 

The  old  Squire  gave  me  an  odd  look.  Then  he 
laughed  and  resumed  his  accounts  for  what  seemed  to 
me  a  long  while.  I  had  the  feeling  that  he  wished  I 
had  not  told  him. 


74    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

At  last  he  looked  up.  "I  suppose,  now  that  we  have 
found  this  out,  Jotham  will  have  to  be  told.  They  are 
his  oxen,  of  course,  and  we  should  not  feel  right  if  we 
were  to  keep  this  from  him.  It  wouldn't  be  quite  the 
neighborly  thing  to  do — to  conceal  it.  So  you  had 
better  go  over  and  tell  him." 

Almost  every  one  likes  to  carry  news,  whether  good 
or  bad;  and  within  fifteen  minutes  I  had  reached  the 
Edwards  farmhouse.  Jotham,  who  was  taking  a  late 
supper,  came  to  the  door. 

"  What  will  you  give  to  know  where  your  lost  oxen 
are?"  I  cried. 

"  Where  are  they?  Do  you  know?  "  he  exclaimed. 
Then  I  told  him  where  Willis  and  I  had  seen  them. 
"Wai,  I  vum!"  said  Jotham.  "  Left  me  and  took 
to  the  woods!  And  I've  lost  two  years'  work  from 
'em!" 

For  a  moment  I  was  sorry  I  had  told  him. 

The  next  day  he  journeyed  up  to  Willis's  camp  with 
several  neighbors;  and  from  there  they  all  snowshoed 
to  the  yard  to  see  the  oxen  and  the  moose.  The 
strangely  assorted  little  herd  was  still  there,  and,  so  far 
as  could  be  judged,  no  one  else  had  discovered  them. 

Jotham  had  intended  to  drive  the  oxen  home;  but 
the  party  found  the  snow  so  deep  that  they  thought  it 
best  to  leave  them  where  they  were  for  a  while.  Since 
it  was  now  the  first  week  of  March,  the  snow  could  be 
expected  to  settle  considerably  within  a  fortnight. 

I  think  it  was  the  eighteenth  of  the  month  when 
Jotham  and  four  other  men  finally  went  to  get  the 
oxen.  They  took  a  gun,  with  the  intention  of  shooting 
one  or  more  of  the  deer.  A  disagreeable  surprise 
awaited  them  at  the  yard. 

At  that  time — it  was  before  the  days  of  game  war- 
dens— what  were  known  as  "  meat-and-hide  hunters  " 
often  came  down  over  the  boundary  from  Canada  and 
slaughtered  moose  and  deer  while  the  animals  were 
snow-bound.  The  lawless  poachers  frequently  came  in 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    75 

parties  and  sometimes  searched  the  woods  for  twenty 
or  thirty  miles  below  the  Line  in  quest  of  yards. 

Apparently  such  a  raiding  party  had  found  Willis's 
yard  and  had  shot  not  only  the  six  deer  and  moose  but 
Jotham's  oxen  as  well.  Blood  on  the  snow  and  refuse 
where  the  animals  had  been  hung  up  for  skinning  and 
dressing,  made  what  had  happened  only  too  plain. 

Poor  Jotham  came  home  much  cast  down.  "  That's 
just  my  luck !  "  he  lamented.  "  Everything  always 
goes  just  that  way  with  me !  " 


CHAPTER   X 

BETHESDA 

IF  anything  was  missing  at  the  old  farmhouse — 
clothes-brush,  soap,  comb  or  other  articles  of 
daily  use — some  one  almost  always  would  exclaim, 
"Look  in  Bethesda!"  or  "I  left  it  in  Bethesda!" 
Bethesda  was  one  of  those  household  words  that  you 
use  without  thought  of  its  original  significance  or 
of  the  amused  query  that  it  raises  in  the  minds  of 
strangers. 

Like  most  New  England  houses  built  seventy-five 
years  ago,  the  farmhouse  at  the  old  Squire's  had  been 
planned  without  thought  of  bathing  facilities.  The 
family  wash  tub,  brought  to  the  kitchen  of  a  Saturday 
night,  and  filled  with  well  water  tempered  slightly  by 
a  few  quarts  from  the  teakettle,  served  the  purpose. 
We  were  not  so  badly  off  as  our  ancestors  had  been, 
however,  for  in  1865,  when  we  young  folks  went  home 
to  live  at  the  old  Squire's,  stoves  were  fully  in  vogue 
and  farmhouses  were  comfortably  warmed.  Bath- 
ing on  winter  nights  was  uncomfortable  enough,  we 
thought,  but  it  was  not  the  desperately  chilly  business 
that  it  must  have  been  when  farmhouses  were  heated 
by  a  single  fireplace. 

In  the  sitting-room  we  had  both  a  fireplace  and  an 
"  air-tight  "  for  the  coldest  weather.  In  grandmother 
Ruth's  room  there  was  a  "  fireside  companion,"  and  in 
the  front  room  a  "  soapstone  comfort,"  with  sides  and 
top  of  a  certain  kind  of  variegated  limestone  that  held 
heat  through  the  winter  nights. 

So  much  heat  rose  from  the  lower  rooms  that  the 
bedrooms  on  the  floor  above,  where  we  young  folks 

-     76 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    77 

slept,  were  by  no  means  uncomfortably  cold,  even  in 
zero  weather.  Grandmother  Ruth  would  open  the  hall 
doors  an  hour  before  it  was  time  for  us  to  go  to  bed, 
to  let  the  superfluous  heat  rise  for  our  benefit. 

In  the  matter  of  bathing,  however,  a  great  deal  was 
left  to  be  desired  at  the  old  house.  There  were  six  of 
us  to  take  turns  at  that  one  tub.  Grandmother  Ruth 
took  charge:  she  saw  to  it  that  we  did  not  take  too 
long,  and  listened  to  the  tearful  complaints  about  the 
coldness  of  the  water.  On  Saturday  nights  her  lot  was 
not  a  happy  one.  She  used  to  sit  just  outside  the 
kitchen  door  and  call  our  names  when  our  turns  came ; 
and  as  each  of  us  went  by  she  would  hand  us  our 
change  of  underclothing. 

Although  the  brass  kettle  was  kept  heating  on  the 
stove  all  the  while,  we  had  trouble  in  getting  enough 
warm  water  to  "  take  the  chill  off."  More  than  once — 
unbeknown  to  grandmother  Ruth — I  followed  Addi- 
son  in  the  tub  without  changing  the  water.  He  had 
appreciably  warmed  it  up.  One  night  Halstead  twitted 
me  about  it  at  the  supper  table,  and  I  recollect  that  the 
lack  of  proper  sensibility  that  I  had  shown  scandalized 
the  entire  family. 

"  Oh,  Joseph !  "  grandmother  often  exclaimed  to  the 
old  Squire.  "  We  must  have  some  better  way  for  these 
children  to  bathe.  They  are  getting  older  and  larger, 
and  I  certainly  cannot  manage  it  much  longer." 

Things  went  on  in  that  way  for  the  first  two  years 
of  our  sojourn  at  the  old  place — until  after  the  old 
Squire  had  installed  a  hydraulic  ram  down  at  the 
brook,  which  forced  plenty  of  water  up  to  the  house 
and  the  barns.  Then,  in  October  of  the  third  year, 
the  old  gentleman  bestirred  himself. 

He  had  been  as  anxious  as  any  one  to  improve  our 
bathing  facilities,  but  it  is  not  an  easy  job  to  add  a 
bathroom  to  a  farmhouse.  He  walked  about  at  the 
back  of  the  house  for  hours,  and  made  several  ex- 
cursions to  a  hollow  at  a  distance  in  the  rear  of  the 


78    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

place,   and  also   climbed  to  the  attic,  all  the  while 
whistling  softly: 

"  Roll  on,  Silver  Moon, 
Guide  the  traveler  on  his  way." 

That  was  always  a  sure  sign  that  he  was  getting 
interested  in  some  scheme. 

Then  things  began  to  move  in  earnest.  Two  car- 
penters appeared  and  laid  the  sills  for  an  addition  to 
the  house,  twenty  feet  long  by  eighteen  feet  wide,  just 
behind  the  kitchen,  which  was  in  the  L.  The  room 
that  they  built  had  a  door  opening  directly  into  the 
kitchen.  The  floor,  I  remember,  was  of  maple  and  the 
walls  of  matched  spruce. 

Meanwhile  the  old  Squire  had  had  a  sewer  dug  about 
three  hundred  feet  long;  and  to  hold  the  water  supply 
he  built  a  tank  of  about  a  thousand  gallons'  capacity, 
made  of  pine  planks ;  the  tank  was  in  the  attic  directly 
over  the  kitchen  stove,  so  that  in  winter  heat  would 
rise  under  it  through  a  little  scuttle  in  the  floor  and 
prevent  the  water  from  freezing. 

From  the  tank  the  pipes  that  led  to  the  new  bath- 
room ran  down  close  to  the  chimney  and  the  stove  pipe. 
Those  bathroom  pipes  gave  the  old  Squire  much  anx- 
iety ;  there  was  not  a  plumber  in  town ;  the  old  gentle- 
man had  to  do  the  work  himself,  with  the  help  of  a 
hardware  dealer  from  the  village,  six  miles  away. 

But  if  the  pipe  gave  him  anxiety,  the  bathtub  gave 
him  more.  When  he  inquired  at  Portland  about  their 
cost,  he  was  somewhat  staggered  to  learn  that  the  price 
of  a  regular  tub  was  fifty-eight  dollars. 

But  the  old  Squire  had  an  inventive  brain.  He 
drove  up  to  the  mill,  selected  a  large,  sound  pine  log 
about  four  feet  in  diameter  and  set  old  Davy  Glinds, 
a  brother  of  Hughy  Glinds,  to  excavate  a  tub  from  it 
with  an  adze.  In  his  younger  days  Davy  Glinds  had 
been  a  ship  carpenter,  and  was  skilled  in  the  use  of  the 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    79 

broadaxe  and  the  adze.  He  fashioned  a  good-looking 
tub,  five  feet  long  by  two  and  a  half  wide,  smooth 
hewn  within  and  without.  When  painted  white  the 
tub  presented  a  very  creditable  appearance. 

The  old  Squire  was  so  pleased  with  it  that  he 
had  Glinds  make  another;  and  then,  discovering  how 
cheaply  pine  bathtubs  could  be  made,  he  hit  upon  a 
new  notion.  The  more  he  studied  on  a  thing  like  that, 
the  more  the  subject  unfolded  in  his  dear  old  head. 
Why,  the  old  Squire  asked  himself,  need  the  Saturday- 
night  bath  occupy  a  whole  evening  because  the  eight  or 
ten  members  of  the  family  had  to  take  turns  in  one 
tub,  when  we  could  just  as  well  have  more  tubs? 

Before  grandmother  Ruth  fairly  realized  what  he 
was  about,  the  old  gentleman  had  five  of  these  pine 
tubs  ranged  there  in  the  new  lean-to.  He  had  the  car- 
penters inclose  each  tub  within  a  sealed  partition  of 
spruce  boards.  There  was  thus  formed  a  little  hall 
five  feet  wide  in  the  center  of  the  new  bathroom,  from 
which  small  doors  opened  to  each  tub. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Joseph,  by  so  many  tubs  ?  " 
grandmother  cried  in  astonishment,  when  she  dis- 
covered what  he  was  doing. 

"  Well,  Ruth,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  we'd  have  a  tub 
for  the  boys,  a  tub  for  the  girls,  then  tubs  for  you  and 
me,  mother,  and  one  for  our  hired  help." 

"  Sakes  alive,  Joe !    All  those  tubs  to  keep  clean  f " 

"  But  didn't  you  want  a  large  bathroom  ?  "  the  old 
Squire  rejoined,  with  twinkling  eyes. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  cried  grandmother,  "  but  I  had  no  idea 
you  were  going  to  make  a  regular  Bethesda !  " 

Bethesda !  Sure  enough,  like  the  pool  in  Jerusalem, 
it  had  five  porches!  And  that  name,  born  of  grand- 
mother Ruth's  indignant  surprise,  stuck  to  it  ever 
afterwards. 

When  the  old  Squire  began  work  on  that  bathroom 
he  expected  to  have  it  finished  in  a  month.  But  one 
difficulty  after  another  arose:  the  tank  leaked;  the 


80    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

sewer  clogged;  nothing  would  work.  If  the  hardware 
dealer  from  the  village  came  once  to  help,  he  came 
fifty  times!  His  own  experience  in  bathrooms  was 
limited.  Then,  to  have  hot  water  in  abundance,  it  was 
necessary  to  send  to  Portland  for  a  seventy-five-gallon 
copper  heater;  and  six  weeks  passed  before  that  order 
was  filled. 

November,  December  and  January  passed  before 
Bethesda  was  ready  to  turn  on  the  water ;  and  then  we 
found  that  the  kitchen  stove  would  not  heat  so  large  a 
heater,  or  at  least  would  not  do  it  and  serve  as  a  cook- 
stove  at  the  same  time.  Nor  would  it  sufficiently 
warm  the  bathroom  in  very  cold  weather  even  with 
the  kitchen  door  open.  Then  one  night  in  Febru- 
ary the  pipes  at  the  far  end  froze  and  burst,  and  the 
hardware  man  had  to  make  us  another  hasty  visit. 

To  ward  off  such  accidents  in  the  future  the  old 
Squire  now  had  recourse  to  what  is  known  as  the 
Granger  furnace — a  convenience  that  was  then  just 
coming  into  general  favor  among  farmers.  They  are 
cosy,  heat-holding  contrivances,  made  of  brick  and 
lined  either  with  fire  brick  or  iron ;  they  have  an  iron 
top  with  pot  holes  in  which  you  can  set  kettles.  The 
old  Squire  connected  ours  with  the  heater,  and  he 
placed  it  so  that  half  of  it  projected  into  the  new  bath- 
room, through  the  partition  wall  of  the  kitchen.  It 
served  its  purpose  effectively  and  on  winter  nights 
diffused  a  genial  glow  both  in  the  kitchen  and  in  the 
bathroom. 

But  it  was  the  middle  of  April  before  the  bathroom 
was  completed;  and  the  cost  was  actually  between 
eight  and  nine  hundred  dollars ! 

"  My  sakes,  Joseph ! "  grandmother  exclaimed. 
"  Another  bathroom  like  that  would  put  us  in  the  poor- 
house.  And  the  neighbors  all  think  we're  crazy !  " 

The  old  Squire,  however,  rubbed  his  hands  with  a 
smile  of  satisfaction.  "  I  call  it  rather  fine.  I  guess  we 
are  going  to  like  it,"  he  said. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    81 

Like  it  we  did,  certainly.  Bathing  was  no  longer  an 
ordeal,  but  a  delight.  There  was  plenty  of  warm 
water;  you  had  only  to  pick  your  tub,  enter  your 
cubicle  and  shut  the  door.  Bethesda,  with  its  Granger 
furnace  and  big  water  heater,  was  a  veritable  house- 
hold joy. 

"  Ruth,"  the  old  Squire  said,  "  all  I'm  sorry  for  is 
that  I  didn't  do  this  thirty  years  ago.  When  I  reflect 
on  the  cold,  miserable  baths  we  have  taken  and  the 
other  privations  you  and  I  have  endured  all  these  years 
it  makes  me  heartsick  to  think  what  I've  neglected." 

"  But  nine  hundred  dollars,  Joseph !  "  grandmother 
interposed  with  a  scandalized  expression.  "  That's  an 
awful  bill!" 

"  Yes,"  the  old  Squire  admitted,  "  but  we  shall  sur- 
vive it." 

Grandmother  was  right  about  our  neighbors.  What 
they  said  among  themselves  would  no  doubt  have  been 
illuminating  if  we  had  heard  it;  but  they  maintained 
complete  silence  when  we  were  present.  But  we 
noticed  that  when  they  called  at  the  farmhouse  they 
cast  curious  and  perhaps  envious  glances  at  the  new 
lean-to. 

Then  an  amusing  thing  happened.  We  had  been  en- 
joying Bethesda  for  a  few  weeks,  but  had  not  yet  got 
past  our  daily  pride  in  it,  when  one  hot  evening  in 
the  latter  part  of  June  who  should  come  driving  into 
the  yard  but  David  Barker,  "  the  Burns  of  Maine,"  a 
poet  and  humorist  of  state-wide  renown. 

The  old  Squire  had  met  him  several  times;  but  his 
visit  that  night  was  accidental.  He  had  come  into  our 
part  of  the  state  to  visit  a  kinsman,  but  had  got  off  his 
proper  route  and  had  called  at  our  house  to  ask  how 
far  away  this  relative  lived. 

"  It  is  nine  or  ten  miles  up  there,"  the  old  Squire 
said  when  they  had  shaken  hands.  "  You  are  off  your 
route.  Better  take  out  your  horse  and  spend  the  night 
with  us.  You  can  find  your  way  better  by  daylight." 


82    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

After  some  further  conversation  Mr.  Barker  de- 
cided to  accept  the  old  Squire's  invitation.  While 
grandmother  and  Ellen  got  supper  for  our  guest,  the 
old  Squire  escorted  him  to  the  hand  bowl  that  he  had 
put  in  at  the  end  of  the  bathroom  hall.  I  imagine  that 
the  old  Squire  was  just  a  little  proud  of  our  recent 
accommodations. 

11  And,  David,  if  you  would  like  a  bath  before  re- 
tiring to-night,  just  step  in  here  and  make  yourself  at 
home,"  he  said  and  opened  several  of  the  doors  to  the 
little  cubicles. 

David  looked  the  tubs  over,  first  one  and  then  an- 
other. 

"  Wai,  Squire,"  he  said  at  last,  in  that  peculiar  voice 
of  his,  "  I've  sometimes  wondered  why  our  Maine 
folks  had  so  few  bathtubs,  and  sometimes  been  a  little 
ashamed  on't.  But  now  I  see  how  'tis.  You've  got 
all  the  bathtubs  there  are  cornered  up  here  at  your 
place!" 

He  continued  joking  about  our  bathrooms  while  he 
was  eating  supper;  and  later,  before  retiring,  he  said, 
"  I  know  you  are  a  neat  woman,  Aunt  Ruth,  and  I 
guess  before  I  go  to  bed  I'll  take  a  turn  in  your  bath- 
room." 

Ellen  gave  him  a  lamp ;  and  he  went  in  and  shut  the 
door.  Fifteen  minutes — half  an  hour — nearly  an  hour 
— passed,  and  still  he  was  in  there ;  and  we  heard  him 
turning  on  and  letting  off  water,  apparently  barrels  of 
it !  Occasionally,  too,  we  heard  a  door  open  and  shut. 

At  last,  when  nearly  an  hour  and  a  half  had  elapsed, 
the  old  Squire,  wondering  whether  anything  were 
wrong,  went  to  the  bathroom  door.  He  knocked,  and 
on  getting  a  response  inquired  whether  there  was  any 
trouble. 

"Doesn't  the  water  run,  David?"  he  asked.  "Is 
it  too  cold  for  you?  How  are  you  getting  on  in 
there?" 

"  Getting  on  beautifully,"  came  the  muffled  voice  of 


&  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    83 

the  humorist  above  the  splashing  within.  "  Doing  a 
great  job.  Only  one  tub  more!  Four  off  and  one  to 
come." 

"  But,  David !  "  the  old  Squire  began  in  considerable 
astonishment. 

'  Yes.  Sure.  It  takes  time.  But  I  know  Aunt 
Ruth  is  an  awful  neat  woman,  and  I  determined  to  do 
a  full  job!" 

He  had  been  taking  a  bath  in  each  of  the  five  tubs  in 
succession.  That  was  Barker  humor. 


CHAPTER    XI 

WHEN    WE   WALKED   THE   TOWN    LINES 

IT  was  some  time  the  following  week,  I  think,  that 
the  old  Squire  looked  across  to  us  at  the  breakfast 
table  and  said,  "  Boys,  don't  you  want  to  walk  the 
town  lines  for  me  ?  I  think  I  shall  let  you  do  it  this 
time — and  have  the  fee,"  he  added,  smiling. 

The  old  gentleman  was  one  of  the  selectmen  of  the 
town  that  year;  and  an  old  law,  or  municipal  regula- 
tion, required  that  one  or  more  of  the  selectmen  should 
walk  the  town  lines — follow  round  the  town  bound- 
aries on  foot — once  a  year,  to  see  that  the  people  of 
adjoining  towns,  or  others,  were  not  trespassing.  The 
practice  of  walking  the  town  lines  is  now  almost  or 
quite  obsolete,  but  it  was  a  needed  precaution  when 
inhabitants  were  few  and  when  the  thirty-six  square 
miles  of  a  township  consisted  mostly  of  forest.  At 
this  time  the  southern  half  of  our  town  was  already 
taken  up  in  farms,  but  the  northern  part  was  still  in 
forest  lots.  The  selectmen  usually  walked  the  north 
lines  only. 

When  the  state  domain,  almost  all  dense  forest,  was 
first  surveyed,  the  land  was  laid  off  in  ranges,  so- 
called,  and  tiers  of  lots.  The  various  grants  of  land 
to  persons  for  public  services  were  also  surveyed  in  a 
similar  manner  and  the  corners  and  lines  established 
by  means  of  stakes  and  stones,  and  of  blazed  trees.  If 
a  large  rock  happened  to  lie  at  the  corner  of  a  range  or 
lot,  the  surveyor  sometimes  marked  it  with  a  drill. 
Such  rocks  made  the  best  corners. 

Usually  the  four  corners  of  the  town  were  estab- 

84 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    85 

lished  by  means  of  low,  square  granite  posts,  set  in  the 
earth  and  with  the  initial  letter  of  the  township  cut  in 
it  with  a  drill. 

As  if  it  were  yesterday  I  remember  that  sharp,  cold 
morning.  Hard-frozen  snow  a  foot  deep  still  covered 
the  cleared  land,  and  in  the  woods  it  was  much  deeper. 
The  first  heavy  rainstorm  of  spring  had  come  two  days 
before,  but  it  had  cleared  off  cold  and  windy  the  pre- 
ceding evening,  with  snow  squalls  and  zero  weather 
again.  Nevertheless,  Addison  and  I  were  delighted  at 
the  old  Squire's  proposal,  especially  since  the  old 
gentleman  had  hinted  that  we  could  have  the  fee, 
which  was  usually  four  dollars  when  two  of  the  select- 
men walked  the  lines  and  were  out  all  day. 

"  Go  to  the  northeast  corner  of  the  town  first,"  the 
old  Squire  said.  "  The  corner  post  is  three  miles  and 
a  half  from  here;  you  will  find  it  in  the  cleared  land  a 
hundred  rods  northeast  of  the  barn  on  the  Jotham 
Silver  place.  Start  from  there  and  go  due  west  till 
you  reach  the  wood-lot  on  the  Silver  farm.  There  the 
blazed  trees  begin,  and  you  will  have  to  go  from  one 
to  another.  It  is  forest  nearly  all  the  way  after  that 
for  six  miles,  till  you  come  to  the  northwest  town 
corner. 

'  You  can  take  my  compass  if  you  like,"  the  old 
Squire  added.  "  But  it  will  not  be  of  much  use  to  you, 
for  it  will  be  easier  to  follow  the  blazed  trees  or  corner 
stakes.  Take  our  lightest  axe  with  you  and  renew  the 
old  blazes  on  the  trees."  He  apparently  felt  some  mis- 
givings that  we  might  get  lost,  for  he  added,  "If  you 
want  to  ask  Thomas  to>  go  with  you,  you  may." 

Tom  was  more  accustomed  to  being  in  the  woods 
than  either  of  us ;  but  Addison  hesitated  about  inviting 
him,  for  of  course  if  he  went  we  should  have  to  divide 
the  fee  with  him.  However,  the  old  Squire  seemed  to 
wish  to  have  him  go  with  us,  and  at  last,  while  Theo- 
dora was  putting  up  a  substantial  luncheon  for  us, 
Ellen  ran  over  to  carry  the  invitation  to  Tom.  He  was 


86    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

willing  enough  to  go  and  came  back  with  her,  carrying 
his  shotgun. 

"  It  will  be  a  long  jaunt/'  the  old  gentleman  said  as 
we  started  off.  "  But  if  you  move  on  briskly  and  don't 
stop  by  the  way,  you  can  get  back  before  dark." 

The  snow  crust  was  so  hard  and  the  walking  so 
good  that  we  struck  directly  across  the  fields  and 
pastures  to  the  northeast  and  within  an  hour  reached 
the  town  corner  on  the  Silver  farm.  At  that  point  our 
tramp  along  the  north  line  of  the  town  began,  and  we 
went  from  one  blazed  tree  to  another  and  freshened 
the  blazes. 

We  went  on  rapidly,  crossed  Hedgehog  Ridge  and 
descended  to  Stoss  Pond,  which  the  town  line  crossed 
obliquely.  We  had  expected  to  cross  the  pond  on  the 
ice;  but  the  recent  great  rainstorm  and  thaw  had 
flooded  the  ice  to  a  depth  of  six  or  eight  inches.  New 
ice  was  already  forming,  but  it  would  not  quite  bear 
our  weight,  and  we  had  to  make  a  detour  of  a  mile 
through  swamps  round  the  south  end  of  the  pond  and 
pick  up  the  line  again  on  the  opposite  shore. 

Stoss  Pond  Mountain  then  confronted  us,  and  it  was 
almost  noon  when  we  neared  Wild  Brook ;  we  heard  it 
roaring  as  we  approached  and  feared  that  we  should 
find  it  very  high. 

"  We  may  have  to  fell  a  tree  over  it  to  get  across," 
Addison  said. 

So  it  seemed,  for  upon  emerging  on  the  bank  we 
saw  a  yellow  torrent  twenty  feet  or  more  wide  and 
four  or  five  feet  deep  rushing  tumultuously  down  the 
rocky  channel. 

Tom,  however,  who  had  come  out  on  the  bank  a 
little  way  below,  shouted  to  us,  above  the  roar,  to  come 
that  way,  and  we  rejoined  him  at  a  bend  where  the 
opposite  bank  was  high.  He  was  in  the  act  of  crossing 
cautiously  on  a  snow  bridge.  During  the  winter  a 
great  snowdrift,  seven  or  eight  feet  deep,  had  lodged 
in  the  brook ;  and  the  recent  freshet  had  merely  cut  a 


*m 


WHEN    WE    WALKED   THE   TOWN    LINES 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     87 

channel  beneath  it,  leaving  a  frozen  arch  that  spanned 
the  torrent. 

"  Don't  do  it!  "  Addison  shouted  to  him.  "  It  will 
fall  with  you!," 

But,  extending  one  foot  slowly  ahead  of  the  other, 
Tom  safely  crossed  to  the  other  side. 

"  Come  on !  "  he  shouted.  "  It  will  hold." 

Addison,  however,  held  back.  The  bridge  looked 
dangerous ;  if  it  broke  down,  whoever  was  on  it  would 
be  thrown  into  the  water  and  carried  downstream  in 
the  icy  torrent. 

"  Oh,  it's  strong  enough!  "  Tom  exclaimed.  "  That 
will  hold  all  right."  And  to  show  how  firm  it  was,  he 
came  part  way  back  across  the  frozen  arch  and  stood 
still. 

It  was  an  unlucky  action.  The  whole  bridge  sud- 
denly collapsed  under  him,  and  down  went  Tom  with 
it  into  the  rushing  water,  which  whirled  him  along  to- 
ward a  jam  of  ice  and  drift  stuff  twenty  or  thirty  yards 
below.  By  flinging  his  arms  across  one  of  those  great 
cakes  of  hard-frozen  snow  he  managed  to  keep  his  head 
up;  and  he  shouted  lustily  for  us  to  help  him.  He 
bumped  against  the  jam  and  hung  there,  fighting  with 
both  arms  to  keep  from  being  carried  under  it. 

Addison,  who  had  the  axe,  ran  down  the  bank  and 
with  a  few  strokes  cut  a  moosewood  sapling,  which  we 
thrust  out  to  Tom.  He  caught  hold  of  it,  and  then, 
by  pulling  hard,  we  hauled  him  to  the  bank  and  helped 
him  out. 

Oh,  but  wasn't  he  a  wet  boy,  and  didn't  his  teeth 
chatter!  In  fact,  all  three  of  us  were  wet,  for,  in  our 
excitement,  Addison  and  I  had  gone  in  knee-deep,  and 
the  water  had  splashed  over  us.  In  that  bitter  cold 
wind  we  felt  it  keenly.  Tom  was  nearly  torpid;  he 
seemed  unable  to  speak,  and  we  could  hardly  make  him 
take  a  step.  His  face  and  hands  were  blue. 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  him?  "  Addison  whispered 
to  me  in  alarm.  "  It's  five  miles  home.  I'm  afraid  he'll 
freeze." 


88    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

We  then  thought  of  the  old  Squire's  logging  camp 
on  Papoose  Pond,  the  outlet  of  which  entered  Wild 
Brook  about  half  a  mile  above  where  we  had  tried  to 
cross  it.  We  knew  that  there  was  a  cooking  stove  in 
the  camp  and  decided  that  our  best  plan  was  to  take 
Tom  there  and  dry  his  clothes.  Getting  him  between 
us,  we  tried  to  make  him  run,  but  he  seemed  unable  to 
move  his  feet. 

"  Run,  run,  Tom !  "  we  shouted  to  him.  "  Run,  or 
you'll  freeze !  " 

He  seemed  not  to  hear  or  care.  In  our  desperation 
we  slapped  him  and  dragged  him  along  between  us. 
Finally  his  legs  moved  a  little,  and  he  began  to  step. 

"  Run,  run  with  us !  "  Addison  kept  urging. 

At  last  we  got  him  going,  although  he  shook  so  hard 
that  he  shook  us  with  him.  The  exertion  did  him 
good.  We  hustled  him  along  and,  following  the 
brook,  came  presently  to  a  disused  lumber  road  that  led 
to  the  logging  camp  in  the  woods  a  few  hundred  yards 
from  the  shore  of  the  pond.  All  three  of  us  were 
panting  hard  when  we  reached  it,  but  our  wet  clothes 
were  frozen  stiff. 

We  rushed  Tom  into  the  camp  and,  finding  matches 
on  a  shelf  behind  the  stovepipe,  kindled  a  fire  of  such 
dry  stuff  as  we  found  at  hand.  Then,  as  the  place 
warmed  up,  we  pulled  off  Tom's  frozen  outer  coat  and 
waistcoat,  got  the  water  out  of  his  boots,  and  set  him 
behind  the  stove. 

Still  he  shook  and  could  speak  only  with  difficulty. 
We  kept  a  hot  fire  and  finally  boiled  water  in  a  kettle 
and,  gathering  wintergreen  leaves  from  a  knoll  outside 
the  camp,  made  a  hot  tea  for  him. 

At  last  we  put  him  into  the  bunk  and  covered  him  as 
best  we  could  with  our  own  coats,  which  we  did  not 
miss,  since  the  camp  was  now  as  hot  as  an  oven.  For 
more  than  an  hour  longer,  however,  his  tremors  con- 
tinued in  spite  of  the  heat.  Addison  and  I  took  turns 
rushing  outside  to  cut  wood  from  dry  spruces  to  keep 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    89 

the  stove  hot.  A  little  later,  as  I  came  in  with  an  arm- 
ful, I  found  Addison  watching  Tom. 

"Sh!"  he  said.   "  He's  asleep." 

The  afternoon  was  waning ;  a  cold,  windy  night  was 
coming  on. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  Addison  whispered  in  per- 
plexity. "  I  don't  believe  we  ought  to  take  him  out ;  his 
clothes  aren't  dry  yet.  We  shall  have  to  stay  here  all 
night  with  him." 

"But  what  will  the  folks  at  home  think?"  I  ex- 
claimed. 

"Of  course  they  will  worry  about  us,"  Addison  re- 
plied gloomily.  "  But  I'm  afraid  Tom  will  get  his 
death  o'  cold  if  we  take  him  out.  We  ought  to  keep 
him  warm." 

Our  own  wet  clothes  had  dried  by  that  time,  and, 
feeling  hungry,  we  ate  a  part  of  our  luncheon.  Night 
came  on  with  snow  squalls;  the  wind  roared  in  the 
forest.  It  was  so  bleak  that  we  gave  up  all  idea  of 
going  home;  and,  after  bringing  in  ten  or  a  dozen 
armfuls  of  wood,  we  settled  down  to  spend  the  night 
there.  Still  Tom  slept,  but  he  breathed  easier  and 
had  ceased  to  shiver.  Suddenly  he  sat  up  and  cried, 
"Help!" 

"  Don't  you  know  where  you  are  ?  "  Addison  asked. 
"Still  dreaming?" 

He  stared  round  in  the  feeble  light.  "  Oh,  yes !  " 
he  said  and  laughed.  "  It's  the  old  camp.  I  tumbled 
into  the  brook.  But  what  makes  it  so  dark  ?  " 

"  It's  night.  You  have  been  asleep  two  or  three 
hours.  We  shall  have  to  stay  here  till  morning." 

"With  nothing  to  eat?"  Tom  exclaimed.  "I'm 
hungry !  " 

In  his  haste  to  set  off  from  home  with  Ellen  he  had 
neglected  to  take  any  luncheon.  We  divided  with  him 
what  we  had  left ;  and  he  ate  hungrily. 

While  he  was  eating,  we  heard  a  sound  of  squalling, 
indistinct  above  the  roar  of  the  wind  in  the  woods. 


90    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

"  Bobcat !  "  Tom  exclaimed.  Then  he  added,  "  But 
it  sounds  more  like  an  old  gander." 

"  May  be  a  flock  of  wild  geese  passing  over,"  Addi- 
son  said.  "  They  sometimes  fly  by  night." 

"  Not  on  such  a  cold  night  in  such  a  wind,"  Tom 
replied. 

Soon  we  heard  the  same  sounds  again. 
'  That's  an  old  gander,  sure,"  Tom  admitted. 

"  Seems  to  come  from  the  same  place,"  Addison  re- 
marked. "  Out  on  Papoose  Pond,  I  guess." 

"  Yes,  siree !  "  Tom  exclaimed.  "  A  flock  of  geese 
has  come  down  on  that  pond.  If  I  had  my  gun,  I 
could  get  a  goose.  But  my  gun  is  in  Wild  Brook,"  he 
added  regretfully.  "  I  let  go  of  it  when  I  fell  in." 

The  squalling  continued  at  intervals.  The  night  was 
so  boisterous,  however,  that  we  did  not  leave  the  camp 
and  after  a  time  fell  asleep  in  the  old  bunk. 

The  cold  waked  me  soon  after  daybreak.  Tom  and 
Addison  were  still  asleep,  with  their  coats  pulled  snugly 
about  their  shoulders  and  their  feet  drawn  up.  I  re- 
kindled the  fire  and  clattered  round  the  stove.  Still 
they  snoozed  on;  and  soon  afterwards,  hearing  the 
same  squalling  sounds  again,  I  stole  forth  in  the  bleak 
dawn  to  see  what  I  could  discover. 

When  I  had  pushed  through  the  swamp  of  thick 
cedar  that  lay  between  the  camp  and  the  pond,  I  be- 
held a  goose  flapping  its  wings  and  squalling  scarcely 
more  than  a  stone's  throw  away.  A  second  glance,  in 
the  increasing  light,  showed  me  the  forms  of  other 
geese,  great  numbers  of  them  on  the  newly  formed  ice. 
On  this  pond,  as  on  the  other,  water  had  gathered  over 
the  winter  ice  and  then  frozen  again. 

With  the  exception  of  this  one  gander,  the  flock 
was  sitting  there  very  still  and  quiet.  The  gander 
waddled  among  the  others,  plucking  at  them  with  his 
pink  beak,  as  if  to  stir  them  up.  Now  and  then  he 
straightened  up,  flapped  his  wings  and  squalled  dolor- 
ously. None  of  the  others  I  noticed  flapped,  stirred  or 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    91 

made  any  movement  whatever.  They  looked  as  if 
they  were  asleep,  and  many  of  them  had  their  heads 
under  their  wings. 

At  last  I  went  out  toward  them  on  the  new  ice, 
which  had  now  frozen  solid  enough  to  bear  me.  The 
gander  rose  in  the  air  and  circled  overhead,  squalling 
fearfully.  On  going  nearer,  I  saw  that  all  those 
geese  were  frozen  in,  and  that  they  were  dead;  the 
entire  flock,  except  that  one  powerful  old  gander,  had 
perished  there.  They  were  frozen  in  the  ice  so  firmly 
that  I  could  not  pull  them  out ;  in  fact,  I  could  scarcely 
bend  the  necks  of  those  that  had  tucked  them  under 
their  wings.  I  counted  forty-one  of  them  besides  the 
gander. 

While  I  was  looking  them  over,  Tom  and  Addison 
appeared  on  the  shore.  They  had  waked  and  missed 
me,  but,  hearing  the  gander,  had  guessed  that  I  had 
gone  to  the  pond.  Both  were  astonished  and  could 
hardly  believe  their  eyes  till  they  came  out  where  I 
stood  and  tried  to  lift  the  geese. 

"  We  shall  have  to  chop  them  out  with  the  axe !  " 
Tom  exclaimed.  "  By  jingo,  boys,  here's  goose  feathers 
enough  to  make  two  feather  beds  and  pillows  to  boot." 

The  gander,  still  squalling,  circled  over  us  again. 

"  The  old  fellow  feels  bad,"  Addison  remarked. 
"  He  has  lost  his  whole  big  family." 

We  decided  that  the  geese  on  their  way  north  had 
been  out  in  the  rainstorm,  and  that  when  the  weather 
cleared  and  turned  cold  so  suddenly,  with  snow  squalls, 
they  had  become  bewildered,  perhaps,  and  had  de- 
scended on  the  pond.  The  cold  wave  was  so  sharp 
that,  being  quite  without  food,  they  had  frozen  into  the 
ice  and  perished  there. 

"  Well,  old  boy,"  Tom  said,  addressing  the  gander 
that  now  stood  flapping  his  wings  at  us  a  few  hundred 
feet  away,  "  you've  lost  your  women-folks.  We  may 
as  well  have  them  as  the  bobcats." 

He  fetched  the  axe,  and  we  cut  away  the  ice  round 


92    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

the  geese  and  then  carried  six  loads  of  them  down  to 
camp. 

If  we  had  had  any  proper  means  of  preparing  a  goose 
we  should  certainly  have  put  one  to  bake  in  the  stove 
oven;  for  all  three  of  us  were  hungry.  As  it  was,  Ad- 
dison  said  we  had  better  make  a  scoot,  load  the  geese 
on  it,  and  take  the  nearest  way  home.  We  had  only 
the  axe  and  our  jackknives  to  work  with,  and  it  was 
nine  o'clock  before  we  had  built  a  rude  sled  and  loaded 
the  geese  on  it. 

As  we  were  about  to  start  we  heard  a  familiar  voice 
cry,  "  Well,  well ;  there  they  are !  "  And  who  should 
come  through  the  cedars  but  the  old  Squire!  A  little 
behind  him  was  Tom's  father. 

On  account  of  the  severity  of  the  weather  both 
families  had  been  much  alarmed  when  we  failed  to 
come  home  the  night  before.  Making  an  early  start 
that  morning,  Mr.  Edwards  and  the  old  Squire  had 
driven  to  the  Silver  farm  and,  leaving  their  team  there, 
had  followed  the  town  line  in  search  of  us.  On  reach- 
ing Wild  Brook  they  had  seen  that  the  snow  bridge 
had  fallen,  and  at  first  they  had  been  badly  frightened. 
On  looking  round,  however,  they  had  found  the  marks 
of  our  boot  heels  on  the  frozen  snow,  heading  up- 
stream, and  had  immediately  guessed  that  we  had  gone 
to  the  old  camp.  So  we  had  their  company  on  the  way 
home;  and  much  astonished  both  of  them  were  at  the 
sight  of  so  many  geese. 

The  two  households  shared  the  goose  feathers.  The 
meat  was  in  excellent  condition  for  cooking,  and  our 
two  families  had  many  a  good  meal  of  roast  goose. 
We  sent  six  of  the  birds  to  the  town  farm,  and  we 
heard  afterwards  that  the  seventeen  paupers  there  par- 
took of  a  grand  goose  dinner,  garnished  with  apple 
sauce.  But  I  have  often  thought  of  that  old  gander 
flying  north  to  the  breeding  grounds  alone. 

The  following  week  we  walked  the  remaining  part 
of  the  town  line  and  received  the  fee. 


CHAPTER    XII 

THE   ROSE-QUARTZ    SPRING 

THROUGHOUT  that  entire  season  the  old  Squire 
was  much  interested  in  a  project  for  making  a 
fortune  from  the  sale  of  spring  water.  The 
water  of  the  celebrated  Poland  Spring,  twenty  miles 
from  our  place — where  the  Poland  Spring  Hotel  now 
stands — was  already  enjoying  an  enviable  popularity; 
and  up  in  our  north  pasture  on  the  side  of  Nubble  Hill, 
there  was,  and  still  is,  a  fine  spring,  the  water  of  which 
did  not  differ  in  analysis  from  that  of  the  Poland 
Spring.  It  is  the  "  boiling  "  type  of  spring,  and  the 
water,  which  is  stone-cold,  bubbles  up  through  white 
quartzose  sand  at  the  foot  of  a  low  granite  ledge.  It 
flows  throughout  the  year  at  the  rate  of  about  eight 
gallons  a  minute. 

It  had  always  been  called  the  Nubble  Spring,  but 
when  the  old  Squire  and  Addison  made  their  plans  for 
selling  the  spring  water  they  rechristened  it  the  Rose- 
Quartz  Spring  on  account  of  an  outcrop  of  rose  quartz 
in  the  ledges  near  by. 

They  had  the  water  analyzed  by  a  chemist  in  Boston, 
who  pronounced  it  as  pure  as  Poland  water,  and,  in- 
deed, so  like  it  that  he  could  detect  no  difference.  All 
of  us  were  soon  enthusiastic  about  the  project. 

First  we  set  to  work  to  make  the  spring  more  at- 
tractive. We  cleared  up  the  site  and  formed  a  granite 
basin  for  the  water,  sheltered  by  a  little  kiosk  with 
seats  where  visitors  could  sit  as  they  drank.  We  also 
cleared  up  the  slope  round  it  and  set  out  borders  of 
young  pine  and  balm-of-Gilead  trees. 

We  sent  samples  of  the  water  in  bottles  and  kegs  to 


94    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

dealers  in  spring  waters,  along  with  a  descriptive  cir- 
cular— which  Addison  composed — and  the  statement 
of  analysis.  Addison  embellished  the  circular  with 
several  pictures  of  the  spring  and  its  surroundings,  and 
cited  medical  opinions  on  the  value  of  pure  waters  of 
this  class.  We  also  invited  our  neighbors  and  fellow 
townsmen  to  come  and  drink  at  our  spring. 

Very  soon  orders  began  to  come  in.  The  name 
itself,  the  Rose-Quartz  Spring,  was  fortunate,  for  it 
conveyed  a  suggestion  of  crystal  purity ;  that  with  the 
analysis  induced  numbers  of  people  in  the  great  cities, 
especially  in  Chicago,  to  try  it. 

Less  was  known  in  1868  than  now  of  the  precau- 
tions that  it  is  necessary  to  take  in  sending  spring 
water  to  distant  places,  in  order  to  insure  its  keeping 
pure.  Little  was  known  of  microbes  or  antisepsis. 

The  old  Squire  and  Addison  decided  that  they  would 
have  to  send  the  water  to  their  customers  in  kegs 
of  various  sizes  and  in  barrels;  but  as  kegs  made  of 
oak  staves,  or  of  spruce,  would  impart  a  woody  taste 
to  the  water,  they  hit  upon  the  expedient  of  making 
the  staves  of  sugar-maple  wood.  The  old  Squire  had 
a  great  quantity  of  staves  sawed  at  his  hardwood  floor- 
ing mill,  and  at  the  cooper  shop  had  them  made  into 
kegs  and  barrels  of  all  sizes  from  five  gallons'  capacity 
up  to  fifty  gallons'.  After  the  kegs  were  set  up  we 
filled  them  with  water  and  allowed  them  to  soak  for  a 
week  to  take  out  all  taste  of  the  wood  before  we  filled 
them  from  the  spring  and  sent  them  away. 

We  believed  that  that  precaution  was  sufficient,  but 
now  it  is  known  that  spring  water  can  be  kept  safe 
only  by  putting  it  in  glass  bottles  and  glass  carboys. 
No  water  will  keep  sweet  in  barrels  for  any  great 
length  of  time,  particularly  when  exported  to  hot 
climates. 

The  spring  was  nearly  a  mile  from  the  farmhouse ; 
and  at  a  little  distance  below  it  we  built  a  shed  and  set 
up  a  large  kettle  for  boiling  water  to  scald  out  the  kegs 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    95 

and  barrels  that  came  back  from  customers  and  dealers 
to  be  refilled.  We  were  careful  not  only  to  rinse  them 
but  also  to  soak  them  before  we  cleaned  them  with 
scalding  water.  As  the  business  of  sending  off  the 
water  grew,  the  old  Squire  kept  a  hired  man  at  the 
spring  and  the  shed  to  look  after  the  kegs  and  to  draw 
the  water.  His  name  was  James  Doane.  He  had 
been  with  the  old  Squire  six  years  and  as  a  rule  was 
a  trustworthy  man  and  a  good  worker.  He  had  one 
failing:  occasionally,  although  not  very  often,  he 
would  get  drunk. 

So  firm  was  the  old  Squire's  faith  in  the  water  that 
we  drew  a  supply  of  it  to  the  house  every  second 
morning.  Addison  fitted  up  a  little  "  water  room  " 
in  the  farmhouse  L,  and  we  kept  water  there  in  large 
bottles,  cooled,  for  drinking.  The  water  seemed  to  do 
us  good,  for  we  were  all  unusually  healthy  that  sum- 
mer. "  Here's  the  true  elixir  of  health,"  the  old  Squire 
often  said  as  he  drew  a  glass  of  it  and  sat  down  in  the 
pleasant,  cool  "  water  room  "  to  enjoy  it. 

Addison  and  he  had  fixed  the  price  of  the  water 
at  twenty-five  cents  a  gallon,  although  we  made  our 
neighbors  and  fellow  townsmen  welcome  to  all  they 
cared  to  come  and  get.  We  first  advertised  the  water 
in  June,  and  sales  increased  slowly  throughout  the 
summer  and  fall.  Apparently  the  water  gave  good 
satisfaction,  for  the  kegs  came  back  to  be  refilled.  By 
the  following  May  the  success  of  the  venture  seemed 
assured.  Those  who  were  using  the  water  spoke  well 
of  it,  and  the  demand  was  growing.  In  April  we  re- 
ceived orders  for  more  than  nine  hundred  gallons,  and 
in  May  for  more  than  thirteen  hundred  gallons. 

The  old  Squire  was  very  happy  over  the  success 
of  the  enterprise.  "  It's  a  fine,  clean  business,"  he 
said.  '  That  water  has  done  us  good,  and  it  will  do 
others  good;  and  if  they  drink  that,  they  will  drink 
less  whiskey." 

Addison  spent  the  evenings  in  making  out  bills  and 


96    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

attending  to  the  correspondence ;  for  there  were  other 
matters  that  had  to  be  attended  to  besides  the  Rose- 
Quartz  Spring.  Besides  the  farm  work  we  had  to  look 
after  the  hardwood  flooring  mill  that  summer  and  the 
white-birch  dowel  mill.  For  several  days  toward  the 
end  of  June  we  did  not  even  have  time  to  go  up  to  the 
spring  for  our  usual  supply  of  water.  But  we  kept 
Jim  Doane  there  under  instructions  to  attend  carefully 
to  the  putting  up  of  the  water.  It  was  his  sole  busi- 
ness, and  he  seemed  to  be  attending  to  it  properly.  He 
was  at  the  spring  every  day  and  boarded  at  the  house 
of  a  neighbor,  named  Murch,  who  lived  nearer  to 
Nubble  Hill  than  we  did.  Every  day,  too,  we  noticed 
the  smoke  of  the  fire  under  the  kettle  in  which  he 
heated  water  for  scalding  out  the  casks. 

The  first  hint  we  had  that  things  were  going  wrong 
was  when  Willis  Murch  told  Addison  that  Doane  had 
been  on  a  spree,  and  that  for  several  days  he  had  been 
so  badly  under  the  influence  of  liquor  that  he  did  not 
know  what  he  was  about. 

On  hearing  that  news  Addison  and  the  old  Squire 
hastened  to  the  spring.  Jim  was  there,  sober  enough 
now,  and  working  industriously.  But  he  looked  bad, 
and  his  account  of  how  he  had  done  his  work  for  the 
last  week  was  far  from  clear.  The  old  Squire  gave 
him  another  job  at  the  dowel  mill  and  stationed  his 
brother,  Asa  Doane,  a  strictly  temperate  man,  at  the 
spring.  We  could  not  learn  just  what  had  happened 
during  the  past  ten  days,  but  we  hoped  that  no  serious 
neglect  had  occurred. 

But  there  had. 

Toward  the  middle  of  July  a  letter  of  complaint 
came — the  first  we  had  ever  received.  "  This  barrel  of 
water  from  your  spring  is  not  keeping  good,"  were 
the  exact  words  of  it.  I  remember  them  well,  for  we 
read  them  over  and  over  again.  Addison  replied  at 
once,  and  sent  another  barrel  in  its  place. 

Before  another  week  had  passed  a  second  complaint 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    97 

came.  "  This  last  barrel  of  water  from  your  spring  is 
turning  '  ropy/  "  it  said.  Another  customer  sent  his 
barrel  back  when  half  full,  with  a  letter  saying,  "  It 
isn't  fit  to  drink.  The  barrel  is  slimy  inside." 

Addison  examined  the  barrel  carefully,  and  found 
that  there  was,  indeed,  an  appreciable  film  of  vegetable 
growth  on  the  staves  inside.  The  taste  of  the  water 
also  was  quite  different. 

Within  a  fortnight  four  more  barrels  and  kegs  were 
returned  to  us,  in  at  least  two  cases  accompanied  by 
sharp  words  of  condemnation.  "  No  better  than  pond 
water,"  one  customer  wrote. 

We  carefully  examined  the  inside  of  all  these  barrels 
and  kegs  as  soon  as  they  came  back.  Besides  invisible 
impurities  in  the  water,  there  was  in  every  one  more 
or  less  visible  dirt,  even  bits  of  grass  and  slivers  of 
wood. 

There  was  only  one  conclusion  to  reach :  Jim  Doane 
had  not  been  careful  in  filling  the  kegs  and  had  not 
properly  cleansed  and  scalded  them.  As  nearly  as  we 
could  discover  from  bits  of  information  that  came  out 
subsequently,  there  were  days  and  days  when  he  was 
too  "  hazy  "  to  know  whether  he  had  cleansed  the 
barrels  or  not.  He  had  filled  them  and  sent  them  off  in 
foul  condition. 

Addison  wrote  more  than  fifty  letters  to  customers, 
defending  the  purity  of  Rose-Quartz  Spring  water,  re- 
lating the  facts  of  this  recent  "accident"  and  asking 
for  a  continued  trial  of  it.  I  suppose  that  people  at  a 
distance  thought  that  if  there  had  been  carelessness 
once  there  might  be  again.  Very  likely,  too,  they  sus- 
pected that  the  water  had  never  been  so  pure  as  we  had 
declared  it  to  be.  Owners  of  other  springs  who  had 
put  water  on  the  market  improved  the  opportunity  to 
circulate  reports  that  Rose-Quartz  water  would  not 
"  keep."  We  got  possession  of  three  circulars  in  which 
that  damaging  statement  had  been  sent  broadcast. 

There  is  probably  no  commodity  in  the  world  that 


98    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

depends  so  much  on  a  reputation  for  purity  as  spring 
water.  By  September  the  orders  for  water  had  fallen 
off  to  a  most  disheartening  extent.  Scarcely  three 
hundred  gallons  were  called  for. 

In  the  hope  that  this  was  merely  a  temporary  set- 
back, and  knowing  that  there  was  no  fault  in  the  water 
itself,  the  old  Squire  spent  a  thousand  dollars  in  ad- 
vertisements to  stem  the  tide  of  adverse  criticism.  So 
far  as  we  could  discover,  the  effort  produced  little  or 
no  effect  on  sales.  The  opinion  had  gone  abroad  that 
the  water  would  not  keep  pure  for  any  great  length  of 
time.  By  the  following  spring  sales  had  dwindled  to 
such  an  extent  that  it  was  hardly  worth  while  to  con- 
tinue the  business.  Considered  as  a  commercial  asset, 
the  Rose-Quartz  Spring  was  dead. 

Regretfully  we  gave  up  the  enterprise  and  let  the 
spring  fall  into  disuse.  It  was  then,  I  remember,  that 
the  old  Squire  said,  "  It  takes  us  one  lifetime  to  learn 
how  to  do  things." 


CHAPTER    XIII 

FOX    PILLS 

A1OUT  this  time  an  affair  which  had  long  been 
worrying  Addison  and  myself  came  to  a  final 
settlement. 

Up  in  the  great  woods,  three  or  four  miles  from  the 
old  Squire's  farm,  there  was  a  clearing  of  thirty  or 
forty  acres  in  which  stood  an  old  house  and  barn,  long 
unoccupied.  A  lonelier  place  can  hardly  be  imagined. 
Sombre  spruce  and  fir  woods  inclosed  the  clearing 
on  all  sides;  and  over  the  tree-tops  on  the  east  side 
loomed  the  three  rugged  dark  peaks  of  the  Stoss  Pond 
mountains. 

Thirty  years  before,  Lumen  Bartlett,  a  young  man 
about  twenty  years  old,  had  cleared  the  land  with  his 
own  labor,  built  the  house  and  barn,  and  a  little  later 
gone  to  live  there  with  his  wife,  Althea,  who  was 
younger  even  than  he. 

Life  in  so  remote  a  place  must  have  been  some- 
what solitary;  but  they  were  very  happy,  it  is  said, 
for  a  year  and  a  half.  Then  one  morning  they  fell  to 
quarreling  bitterly  over  so  trifling  a  thing  as  a  cedar 
broom.  In  the  anger  of  the  moment  Althea  made  a 
bundle  of  her  clothing  and  without  a  word  of  farewell 
set  off  on  foot  to  go  home  to  her  parents,  who  lived  ten 
miles  away. 

Lumen,  equally  stubborn,  took  his  axe  and  went  out 
to  his  work  of  clearing  land  for  a  new  field.  No  one 
saw  him  alive  afterwards;  but  two  weeks  later  some 
hunters  found  his  body  in  the  woods.  Apparently  the 
tops  of  several  of  the  trees  he  had  been  trying  to  cut 

99 


100    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

down  had  lodged  together,  and  to  bring  them  down  he 
had  cut  another  large  tree  on  which  they  hung.  This 
last  tree  must  have  started  to  fall  suddenly.  Lumen 
ran  the  wrong  way  and  was  caught  under  the  top  of 
one  of  the  lodged  trees  as  it  came  crashing  down.  The 
marks  showed  that  he  had  tried,  probably  for  hours,  to 
cut  off  with  his  pocket  knife  one  large  branch  that  lay 
across  his  body.  They  found  the  knife  with  the  blade 
broken.  He  had  also  tried  to  free  himself  by  digging 
with  his  bare  fingers  into  the  hard,  rocky  earth.  If 
Lumen  had  been  to  blame  for  the  quarrel,  he  paid  a 
fearful  penalty. 

Afterwards,  however,  Althea  declared  that  she  had 
been  to  blame;  and  if  that  were  true,  she  also  paid  a 
sad  penalty.  During  the  few  remaining  years  of  her 
life  she  was  never  in  her  right  mind.  She  used  to 
imagine  that  she  heard  Lumen  calling  to  her  for  help, 
and  several  times,  eluding  her  parents,  she  made  her 
way  back  to  the  clearing.  Every  time  when  they  found 
her  she  was  wandering  about  the  place,  stopping  now 
and  then  as  if  to  listen,  then  flitting  on  again,  saying 
in  a  sad  singsong,  "  I'm  coming,  Lumen !  Oh,  I'll 
come  back !  " 

Naturally,  persons  of  a  superstitious  nature  began 
to  imagine  that  they,  too,  heard  strange  cries  at  the 
deserted  farm,  for  no  one  ever  lived  there  subsequently. 
Very  likely  they  did  hear  cries — the  cries  of  wild 
animals;  that  old  clearing  in  the  woods  was  a  great 
place  for  bears,  foxes,  raccoons  and  "  lucivees." 

A  year  or  two  before  we  young  folks  went  home  to 
live  on  the  old  farm  the  town  sold  this  deserted  lot  at 
auction  for  unpaid  taxes.  Some  years  before,  vagrant 
woodsmen  had  accidentally  burned  the  old  house ;  but 
the  barn,  a  weathered,  gray  structure,  was  still  intact. 
Since  the  land  adjoined  other  timber  lots  that  the  old 
Squire  owned,  he  bid  it  off  and  let  it  lie  unoccupied 
except  as  a  pasture  where  sheep,  or  young  stock  that 
needed  little  care,  could  be  put  away  for  the  summer. 


A  BUSY  YEAH  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    101 

The  soil  was  good,  and  the  grass 'was  excellent  in 
quality. 

One  year,  in  May,  after  we  had  repaired  the  brush 
fence,  we  turned  into  it  our  three  Morgan  colts  along 
with  two  Percherons  from  a  stock  farm  near  the 
village,  a  Morgan  three-year-old  belonging  to  our 
neighbors,  the  Edwardses,  three  colts  owned  by  other 
neighbors,  and  a  beautiful  sorrel  three-year-old  mare, 
the  pet  of  young  Mrs.  Kennard,  wife  of  the  principal 
at  the  village  academy.  Her  father,  who  had  recently 
died,  had  given  her  the  colt. 

All  four  Morgans  were  dark-chestnut  colts,  lithe  but 
strong  and  clear-eyed.  And  what  chests  and  loins  they 
had  for  their  size !  They  were  not  so  showy  as  the 
larger,  dappled  Percherons,  perhaps,  but  they  were 
better  all-round  horses.  Lib,  Brown  and  Joe  were  the 
names  of  our  Morgans ;  diet  was  the  name  that  the 
Edwards  young  folks  gave  theirs.  Yet  none  of  them 
was  so  pretty  as  Mrs.  Kennard's  Sylph.  She  was,  in- 
deed, a  blonde  fairy  of  a  mare,  as  graceful  as  a  deer. 

On  the  afternoon  that  we  took  Sylph  up  to  the  clear- 
ing, Mrs.  Kennard  walked  all  the  way  with  us,  because 
she  wished  to  see  for  herself  what  the  place  was  like. 
When  she  saw  what  a  remote,  wild  region  it  was,  she 
was  loath  to  leave  her  pet  there,  and  Mr.  Kennard  had 
some  ado  to  reassure  her.  At  last,  after  giving  the 
colt  many  farewell  pats  and  caresses,  she  came  away 
with  us.  On  the  way  home  she  said  over  and  over  to 
Addison  and  me,  "  Be  sure  to  go  up  often  and  see  that 
Sylph  is  all  right."  And,  laughing  a  little,  we  promised 
that  we  would,  and  that  we  would  also  give  the  colt 
sugar  lumps  as  well  as  her  weekly  salt. 

"  Salting  "  the  sheep  and  young  cattle  that  were  out 
at  pasture  for  the  season  was  one  of  our  weekly  duties. 
When  we  were  very  busy  we  sometimes  put  it  off  until 
Sunday  morning.  Sometimes  it  slipped  our  minds 
altogether  for  a  few  days,  or  even  for  a  week;  but 
Mrs.  Kennard's  solicitude  for  her  pet  had  touched  our 


102    A  BUSY  "YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

hearts,  and  we  resolved  that  we  should  always  be 
prompt  in  performing  the  task. 

The  colts  had  been  turned  out  on  Tuesday ;  and  the 
following  Sunday  morning  after  breakfast  Addison 
and  I,  with  the  girls  accompanying  us,  set  off  with  the 
salt  and  the  sugar  lumps.  It  was  a  long  walk  for  the 
girls,  but  an  inspiring  one  on  such  a  bright  morning. 
The  songs  of  birds  and  the  chatter  of  squirrels  filled 
the  woodland.  Fresh  green  heads  of  bosky  ferns  and 
wake-robin  were  pushing  up  through  the  old  mats  of 
last  year's  foliage. 

"  How  jealous  the  rest  of  them  will  be  of  Sylph! " 
said  Ellen,  who  had  the  sugar  lumps.  "  I  believe  I 
shall  give  each  of  them  a  lump,  so  that  they  won't  be 
spiteful  and  kick  her/' 

As  we  neared  the  bars  in  the  brush  fence  we  saw 
several  of  the  colts  at  the  upper  side  of  the  clearing 
beyond  the  old  barn.  At  the  first  call  from  us,  up  went 
their  pretty  heads;  there  was  a  general  whinny,  and 
then  they  came  racing  to  the  bars  to  greet  us.  Perhaps 
they  had  been  a  little  homesick  so  far  from  stables 
and  barns. 

"  One — two — three — four — why,  they  are  not  all 
here!"  Theodora  said.  "Here  are  only  seven.  Lib 
isn't  here,  or  Mrs.  Kennard's  Sylph." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  they're  not  far  off,"  Addison  said,  and 
began  calling,  "  Co'  jack,  co'  jack!  "  He  wanted  them 
all  there  before  he  dropped  the  salt  in  little  piles  on  the 
grassy  greensward. 

But  the  absent  ones  did  not  come.  Ellen  ventured 
the  opinion  that  they  might  have  jumped  the  fence  and 
wandered  off. 

"  Oh,  they  wouldn't  separate  up  here  in  the  woods," 
Addison  said.  "  Colts  keep  together  when  off  in  a  back 
pasture  like  this." 

But  when  he  went  on  calling  and  they  still  did  not 
come,  we  began  really  to  fear  that  they  had  got  out 
and  strayed. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    103 

"  Let's  go  round  the  fence,"  Addison  said  at  last, 
"  and  see  if  we  find  a  gap,  or  hoofprints  on  the  outside, 
where  they  have  jumped  over." 

He  and  Theodora  went  one  way,  Ellen  and  I  the 
other.  We  met  halfway  round  the  clearing  without 
having  discovered  either  gaps  in  the  fence  or  tracks 
outside.  Remembering  that  horses,  when  rolling, 
sometimes  get  cast  in  hollows  between  knolls,  we 
searched  the  entire  clearing,  and  even  looked  into  the 
old  barn,  the  door  of  which  stood  slightly  ajar;  but  we 
found  no  trace  of  the  missing  animals  and  began  to 
believe  that  they  really  had  jumped  out. 

We  gave  the  seven  colts  their  salt  and  were  about 
to  start  home  to  report  to  the  old  Squire  when  Ellen  re- 
marked that  we  had  not  actually  looked  among  the  al- 
ders down  by  the  brook,  where  the  colts  went  for  water. 

"  Oh,  but  those  colts  would  not  stay  down  there  by 
themselves  all  this  time  with  us  calling  them !  "  Addi- 
son exclaimed. 

"  But  let's  just  take  a  look,  to  be  certain,"  Ellen  re- 
plied, and  she  and  I  ran  down  there. 

We  had  no  more  than  pushed  our  way  through  the 
alder  clumps  when  two  crows  rose  silently  and  went 
flapping  away;  and  then  I  caught  sight  of  something 
that  made  me  stop  short:  the  body  of  one  of  the 
Morgan  colts — our  Lib — lying  close  to  the  brook ! 

"  Oh !  "  gasped  Ellen.   "  It's  dead !  " 

Pushing  on  through  the  alders,  we  saw  one  of  the 
Percherons  near  the  Morgan.  The  sight  affected  Ellen 
so  much  that  she  turned  back;  but  I  went  on  and  a 
little  farther  up  the  brook  found  the  sorrel  lying  stark 
and  stiff. 

A  moment  later  Ellen  returned,  with  Addison  and 
Theodora.  Both  girls  were  moved  to  tears  as  they 
gazed  at  poor  Sylph ;  they  felt  even  worse  about  her 
than  about  our  own  Morgan. 

"Oh,  what  will  Mrs.  Kennard  say?"  Ellen  cried. 
"  How  dreadfully  she  will  feel!  " 


104    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

Addison  closely  examined  the  bodies  of  the  colts. 
"I  cannot  understand  what  did  it!"  he  exclaimed. 
"  No  marks.  No  blood.  It  wasn't  wild  animals.  It 
couldn't  have  been  lightning,  for  there  hasn't  been  a 
thundershower  this  season.  Must  be  something  they've 
eaten." 

We  looked  all  along  the  brook,  but  could  see  no 
Indian  poke,  the  fresh  growths  of  which  will  poison 
stock.  Nor  had  we  ever  seen  ground  hemlock  or 
poisonous  ivy  there.  The  clearing  was  nearly  all  good, 
grassy  upland  such  as  farmers  consider  a  safe  pastur- 
age. Truly  the  shadow  of  tragedy  seemed  to  hover 
there. 

We  bore  our  sorrowful  tidings  home,  and  the  old 
Squire  was  as  much  astonished  and  mystified  as  every 
one  else.  None  of  us  had  the  heart  either  to  carry  the 
sad  news  or  even  to  send  word  of  it  to  Mrs.  Kennard ; 
but  we  notified  the  owner  of  the  Percherons  at  once. 
He  came  to  look  into  the  matter  the  next  morning. 

The  affair  made  an  unusual  stir,  and  all  that  Monday 
a  considerable  number  of  persons  walked  up  to  the 
clearing  to  see  if  they  could  determine  the  cause  of  the 
colts'  mysterious  death.  Many  and  various  were  the 
conjectures.  Some  professed  to  believe  that  the  colts 
had  been  wantonly  poisoned.  "  It's  a  state-prison  of- 
fense to  lay  poison  for  domestic  animals,"  we  over- 
heard several  of  them  say;  but  no  one  could  find  any 
motive  for  such  a  deed. 

The  owner  of  the  Percheron  brought  a  horse  doctor, 
who  made  a  careful  examination,  but  he  was  unable 
to  determine  anything  more  than  that  the  horses  had 
died  of  a  virulent  poison.  We  buried  them  that  after- 
noon. 

Before  night  the  news  had  reached  Mrs.  Kennard. 
In  her  grief  she  not  only  reproached  herself  bitterly 
for  allowing  Sylph  to  be  turned  out  in  so  wild  a  place 
but  held  the  old  Squire  and  all  of  us  as  somehow 
to  blame  for  her  pet's  death.  The  owner  of  the  Per- 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    105 

cherons  also  intimated  that  he  should  hold  us  liable  for 
his  loss,  although  when  a  man  turns  his  stock  out  in  a 
neighbor's  pasture  it  is  generally  on  the  understanding 
that  it  is  at  his  own  risk.  He  took  away  his  other 
Percheron  colt;  and  during  the  day  all  the  other 
persons  who  had  colts  up  there  took  their  animals 
home.  In  all  respects  the  occurrence  was  most  dis- 
agreeable— a  truly  black  Monday  with  us.  The  old 
Squire  said  little,  except  that  he  wanted  the  right 
thing  done. 

For  an  hour  or  more  after  we  went  to  bed  that  night 
Addison  and  I  lay  talking  about  the  affair,  but  we 
could  think  of  no  explanation  of  the  strange  occurrence 
and  at  last  fell  asleep.  The  next  morning,  however, 
the  solution  of  the  mystery  flashed  into  Addison's 
mind.  As  we  were  dressing  at  five  o'clock,  he  sud- 
denly turned  to  me  and  exclaimed  in  a  queer  voice : 

"  I  know  what  killed  those  colts !  " 

"What?  "I  asked. 

"That  fox  bed!" 

For  a  whole  minute  we  stood  there,  half  dressed, 
looking  at  each  other  in  consternation.  Without  doubt, 
the  blame  for  the  loss  of  the  colts  was  on  us.  What 
the  consequences  might  be  we  hardly  dared  to  think. 

"  What  shall  we  do?  "  I  exclaimed. 

Addison  looked  alarmed  as  he  answered  in  a  low 
tone,  "  Keep  quiet — till  we  think  it  over." 

"  We  must  tell  the  old  Squire,"  I  said. 

"  But  there's  Willis,"  Addison  reminded  me.  "  It 
was  Willis  who  made  the  bed,  you  know." 

The  old  clearing  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  great  place 
for  foxes ;  and  the  preceding  fall  Addison  and  I,  wish- 
ing to  add  to  the  fund  we  were  accumulating  for  our 
expenses  when  we  should  go  away  to  college,  had  en- 
tered into  a  kind  of  partnership  with  Willis  Murch  to 
do  a  little  trapping  up  there.  Addison  and  I  were  little 
more  than  silent  partners,  however;  Willis  actually 
tended  the  traps. 


106    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

But  there  are  years,  as  every  trapper  knows,  when 
you  cannot  get  a  fox  into  a  steel  trap  by  any  amount  of 
artfulness.  What  the  reason  is,  I  do  not  know,  unless 
some  fox  that  has  been  trapped  and  that  has  escaped 
passes  the  word  round  among  all  the  other  foxes. 
There  were  plenty  of  foxes  coming  to  the  clearing;  we 
never  went  up  there  without  seeing  fresh  signs  about 
the  old  barn.  Yet  Willis  got  no  fox. 

What  is  more  strange,  it  was  so  all  over  New  Eng- 
land that  fall;  foxes  kept  clear  of  steel  traps.  As  the 
fur  market  was  quick,  certain  city  dealers  began  send- 
ing out  offers  of  "  fox  pills  "  to  trappers  whom  they 
had  on  their  lists.  Willis  received  one  of  those  letters 
and  showed  it  to  us.  The  fox  pills  were,  of  course, 
poison  and  were  to  be  inclosed  in  little  balls  of  tallow 
and  laid  where  foxes  were  known  to  come. 

Trappers  were  advised  to  use  them  but  were  prop- 
erly cautioned  how  and  where  to  expose  them.  After 
picking  up  one  of  the  pills,  a  fox  would  make  for  the 
nearest  running  water  as  fast  as  he  could  go ;  and  that 
was  the  place  for  the  trapper  to  look  for  him,  for,  after 
drinking,  the  fox  soon  expired.  It  has  been  argued 
that  poison  is  more  humane  than  the  steel  trap,  since  it 
brings  a  quick  death;  but  both  are  cruel.  There  are 
also  other  considerations  that  weigh  against  the  use  of 
poison ;  but  at  that  time  there  was  no  law  against  it. 

The  furrier  who  wrote  to  Wrillis  offered  to  send  him 
a  box  of  those  pills  for  seventy-five  cents.  We  talked 
it  over  and  agreed  to  try  it,  and  Addison  and  I  con- 
tributed the  money. 

A  few  days  later  Willis  received  the  pills  and  pro- 
ceeded to  lay  them  out  after  a  plan  of  his  own.  He  cut 
several  tallow  candles  into  pieces  about  an  inch  long, 
and  embedded  a  pill  in  each.  When  he  had  prepared 
twenty  or  more  of  those  pieces  of  poisoned  tallow,  he 
put  them  in  what  he  called  a  fox  bed,  of  oat  chaff,  be- 
hind that  old  barn.  The  bed  was  about  as  large  as  the 
floor  of  a  small  room.  At  that  time  of  year  farmers 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    107 

were  killing  poultry,  and  Willis  collected  a  basketful 
of  chickens'  and  turkeys'  heads  to  put  into  the  bed 
along  with  the  pieces  of  tallow.  He  thought  that  the 
foxes  would  smell  the  heads  and  dig  the  bed  over. 

We  had  said  nothing  to  any  one  about  it.  The  old 
Squire  was  away  from  home ;  but  we  knew  pretty  well 
that  he  would  not  approve  of  that  method  of  getting 
foxes.  Indeed,  he  had  little  sympathy  with  the  use  of 
traps.  Willis  was  the  only  one  who  looked  after  the 
bed,  or,  indeed,  who  went  up  to  the  clearing  at  all. 

During  the  next  three  or  four  weeks  Willis  gathered 
in  not  less  than  ten  pelts,  I  think.  They  were  mostly 
red  foxes,  but  one  was  a  large  "  crossed  gray,"  the  skin 
of  which  brought  twenty -two  dollars.  After  every 
few  days  Willis  "  doctored  "  the  bed  with  more  pills ; 
he  probably  used  more  than  a  hundred. 

What  had  happened  to  the  colts  was  now  clear. 
They  had  nuzzled  that  chaff  for  the  oat  grains  that 
were  left  in  it  and  had  picked  up  some  of  those  little 
balls  of  tallow.  We  wondered  now  that  we  had  not  at 
once  guessed  the  cause  of  their  death,  and  we  won- 
dered, too,  that  we  had  not  thought  of  the  fox  bed  and 
the  danger  from  it  when  we  first  turned  the  colts  into 
the  pasture.  The  fact  remains,  however,  that  it  had 
never  occurred  to  us  that  fox  pills  would  poison  colts 
as  well  as  foxes. 

All  that  day  as  we  worked  we  brooded  over  it ;  and 
that  evening,  when  we  had  done  the  chores,  we  stole 
off  to  the  Murches'  and,  calling  Willis  out,  told  him 
about  it  and  asked  him  what  he  thought  we  had  better 
do.  At  first  he  was  incredulous,  then  thoroughly 
alarmed.  It  was  not  so  much  the  thought  of  having  to 
settle  for  the  loss  of  the  horses  that  terrified  him  as  it 
was  the  dread  that  he  might  be  imprisoned  for  expos- 
ing poison  to  domestic  animals. 

"  Don't  say  a  word !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Nobody 
knows  about  that  fox  bed.  If  we  keep  still,  it  will 
never  come  out." 


108    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

Addison  and  I  both  felt  that  such  secrecy  would 
leave  us  with  a  mighty  mean  feeling  in  our  hearts ;  but 
Willis  begged  us  never  to  say  a  word  about  it  to  any 
one.  He  was  as  penitent  as  we  were,  I  think ;  but  the 
thought  that  he  might  have  to  go  to  jail  filled  him  with 
panic. 

We  went  home  in  a  very  uncomfortable  frame  of 
mind,  without  having  reached  any  decision. 

"  We've  got  to  square  this  somehow,"  Addison  said. 
"  If  I  had  the  money,  I'd  settle  for  the  colts  and  say 
nothing  more  to  Willis  about  it." 

"  Money  wouldn't  make  Mrs.  Kennard  feel  much 
better,"  I  said. 

'  That's  so ;  but  we  might  find  a  pretty  sorrel  colt 
somewhere,  and  make  her  a  present  of  it  in  place  of 
Sylph — if  we  only  had  the  money." 

If  it  had  not  been  for  Willis,  I  rather  think  that  we 
should  have  gone  to  the  old  Squire  that  very  evening 
and  told  him  the  whole  story;  but  the  legal  conse- 
quences of  the  affair  troubled  us,  and  since  they  af- 
fected Willis  more  than  they  affected  us  we  did  not 
like  to  say  anything. 

Week  after  week  went  by  without  our  being  able  to 
bring  ourselves  to  confess.  The  concealment  was  a 
source  of  daily  uneasiness  to  us;  although  we  rarely 
spoke  of  the  affair  to  each  other,  it  was  always  on  our 
minds.  Whenever  we  did  speak  of  it  together,  Addi- 
son would  say,  "  We've  got  to  straighten  that  out,"  or, 
"  I  hate  to  have  that  colt  scrape  hanging  on  us  in  this 
way."  We  tried  several  times  to  get  Willis's  consent  to 
our  telling  the  old  Squire ;  but  he  had  brooded  over  the 
thing  so  long  that  he  had  convinced  himself  that  if  his 
act  became  known  he  would  surely  be  sent  to  the 
penitentiary. 

So  there  the  matter  lay  covered  up  all  summer  until 
one  afternoon  in  September,  when  the  old  Squire 
drove  to  the  village  to  contract  for  his  apple  barrels, 
and  I  went  with  him  to  get  a  pair  of  boots.  Just  as  we 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    109 

were  starting  for  home  we  met  Mrs.  Kennard.  Pre- 
viously she  had  often  visited  us  at  the  farm,  but  since 
the  death  of  Sylph  she  had  not  come  near  us.  The  old 
Squire  tried  to-day  to  be  more  cordial  than  ever,  but 
Mrs.  Kennard  answered  him  rather  coldly.  She  started 
on,  but  turned  suddenly  and  asked  whether  we  had 
learned  anything  more  about  the  death  of  those  colts. 

"  And,  oh,  do  you  think  that  poor  Sylph  lay  there, 
suffering,  a  long  time?"  she  exclaimed,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes.  "  I  keep  thinking  of  it." 

"  No,  we  have  learned  nothing  more,"  the  old  Squire 
said  gently.  "  It  was  a  mysterious  affair;  but  I  think  all 
three  of  the  colts  died  suddenly,  within  a  few  minutes." 

That  was  all  he  could  say  to  comfort  her,  and  Mrs. 
Kennard  walked  slowly  away  with  her  handkerchief 
at  her  eyes.  It  was  painful,  and  I  sat  there  in  the 
wagon  feeling  like  a  mean  little  malefactor. 

"  Very  singular  about  those  colts,"  the  old  Squire 
remarked  partly  to  me,  partly  to  himself,  as  we  drove 
on.  "  A  strange  thing." 

Sudden  resolution  nerved  me.  I  was  sick  of  skulk- 
ing. "  Sir,"  said  I,  swallowing  hard  several  times,  "  I 
know  what  killed  those  colts !  " 

The  old  Squire  glanced  quickly  at  me,  started  to 
speak,  but,  seeing  how  greatly  agitated  I  was,  kindly 
refrained  from  questioning  me. 

"  It  was  fox  pills !  "  I  blurted  out.  "  Willis  Murch 
and  Ad  and  I  had  a  fox  bed  up  there  last  winter.  We 
never  thought  of  it  when  the  colts  were  put  in.  They 
ate  the  poison  pills." 

The  old  Squire  made  no  comment,  and  I  plunged 
into  further  details. 

'  That  accounts  for  it,  then,"  he  said  at  last. 

I  had  expected  him  to  speak  plainly  to  me  about 
those  fox  pills,  but  he  merely  asked  me  what  I  thought 
of  using  poison  in  trapping. 

"  I  never  would  use  it  again ! "  I  exclaimed  hotly. 
"I've  had  enough  of  it!" 


110    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

"  I  am  glad  you  see  it  so,"  he  remarked.  "  It  is  a 
bad  method.  You  never  know  what  may  come  of  it. 
Hounds  or  deer  may  get  it,  or  sheep,  or  young  cattle, 
or  even  children." 

We  drove  on  in  silence  for  some  minutes.  Clearly 
the  old  Squire  was  having  me  do  my  own  thinking; 
for  he  now  asked  me  what  I  thought  should  be  done 
next. 

"  Ad  thinks  we  ought  to  square  it  up  somehow,"  I 
replied. 

The  old  Squire  nodded.  "  I  am  glad  to  hear  that," 
he  said.  "  What  does  Addison  think  we  ought  to  do  ?  " 

"  Pay  Mr.  Cutter  for  that  Percheron  colt." 

"Yes,  and  Mrs.  Kennard?" 

"  He  thinks  we  could  find  another  sorrel  colt  some- 
where and  make  her  a  present  of  it." 

The  old  Squire  nodded  again.  "  I  see.  Perhaps  we 
can."  Then,  after  a  minute,  "  And  what  about  letting 
this  be  known  ?  " 

l(  Willis  is  scared,"  I  said.  "  Addison  thinks  it  would 
be  about  as  well  now  to  settle  up  if  we  can  and  say 
nothing." 

The  old  Squire  did  not  reply  to  that  for  some 
moments.  I  thought  he  was  not  so  well  pleased.  "  I 
do  not  believe  that,  in  the  circumstances,  Willis  need 
fear  being  imprisoned,"  he  said  finally,  "  and  I  see  no 
reason  for  further  concealment.  True,  several  months 
have  passed  and  people  have  mostly  forgotten  it;  per- 
haps not  much  good  would  come  from  publishing  the 
facts  abroad.  We'll  think  it  over." 

After  a  minute  he  said,  "  I'm  glad  you  told  me  this," 
and,  turning,  shook  hands  with  me  gravely. 

"  Ad  and  I  don't  want  you  to  think  that  we  expect 
you  to  square  this  up  f or  us !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  We 
want  to  do  something  to  pay  the  bill  ourselves,  and  to 
pay  you  for  Lib,  too." 

The  old  Squire  laughed.  "  Yes,  I  see  how  you  feel," 
he  said.  "  Would  you  like  me  to  give  you  and  Addison 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    111 

a  job  on  shares  this  fall  or  winter,  so  that  you  could 
straighten  this  out?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  we  would,'*  said  I  earnestly.  "  And  make 
Willis  help,  too!" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  the  old  Squire  said  and  laughed  again. 
"  I  agree  with  you  that  Willis  should  do  his  part. 
Nothing  like  square  dealing,  is  there,  my  son  ?  "  he 
went  on.  "  It  makes  us  all  feel  better,  doesn't  it?  " 

And  he  gave  me  a  brisk  little  pat  on  the  shoulder 
that  made  me  feel  quite  like  a  man. 

How  much  better  I  felt  after  that  talk  with  the  old 
Squire!  I  felt  as  blithe  as  a  bird;  and  when  we  got 
home  I  ran  and  frisked  and  whistled  all  the  way  to  the 
pasture,  where  I  went  to  drive  home  the  Jersey  herd. 
The  only  qualm  I  felt  was  that  I  had  acted  without 
Addison's  consent ;  but  his  first  words  when  I  had  told 
him  relieved  me  on  that  score. 

"  I'm  glad  of  it !  "  he  said.  "  We've  been  in  that  fox 
bed  long  enough.  Now  let  Willis  squirm."  And  when 
I  told  him  of  the  old  Squire's  arrangement  for  our 
paying  off  the  debt,  he  said,  "  That  suits  me.  But  we'll 
make  Willis  work !  " 

We  went  over  to  tell  Willis  that  evening.  He  was,  I 
think,  even  more  relieved  than  we  were;  in  the  weeks 
of  anxiety  that  he  had  passed  he  had  determined  that 
nothing  would  ever  induce  him  to  use  poison  again  for 
trapping  animals. 

At  that  time  many  new  telegraph  lines  were  being 
put  up  in  Maine;  and  the  old  Squire  had  recently 
accepted  a  contract  for  three  thousand  cedar  poles, 
twenty  feet  long,  at  the  rate  of  twenty-five  cents  a 
pole.  Up  in  lot  "  No.  5,"  near  Lurvey's  Stream,  there 
was  plenty  of  cedar  suitable  for  the  purpose;  the  poles 
could  be  floated  down  to  the  point  of  delivery.  The 
old  Squire  let  us  furnish  a  thousand  of  those  poles, 
putting  in  our  own  labor  at  cutting  and  hauling.  And 
in  that  way  we  earned  the  money  to  pay  for  the 
damage  done  by  our  fox  pills. 


112    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

Mr.  Cutter,  the  owner  of  the  Percheron,  was  willing 
to  settle  his  loss  for  one  hundred  dollars ;  and  during 
the  winter,  by  dint  of  many  inquiries,  we  heard  of  an- 
other sorrel,  a  three-year-old,  which  we  purchased  for 
a  hundred  and  fifteen  dollars.  We  took  Mr.  Kennard 
into  our  confidence  and  with  his  connivance  planned  a 
pleasant  surprise  for  his  wife.  While  Theodora  and 
Ellen,  who  had  accompanied  us  to  the  village,  were 
entertaining  Mrs.  Kennard  indoors,  the  old  Squire  and 
Addison  and  I  smuggled  the  colt  into  the  little  stable 
and  put  her  in  the  same  stall  where  Sylph  had  once 
stood.  When  all  -was  ready,  Mr.  Kennard  went  in 
and  said: 

"  Louise,  Sylph's  got  back !  Come  out  to  the 
stable!" 

Wonderingly  Mrs.  Kennard  followed  him  out  to  the 
stable.  For  a  moment  she  gazed,  astonished ;  then,  of 
course,  she  guessed  the  ruse.  "  Oh,  but  it  isn't  Sylph !  " 
she  cried.  "  It  isn't  half  so  pretty !  "  And  out  came 
her  pocket  handkerchief  again. 

The  old  Squire  took  her  gently  by  the  hand.  "  It's 
the  best  we  could  do,"  he  said.  "  We  hope  you  will 
accept  her  with  our  best  wishes." 

Truth  to  say,  Mrs.  Kennard's  tears  were  soon  dried ; 
and  before  long  the  new  colt  became  almost  as  great  a 
pet  as  the  lost  Sylph. 

"  Don't  you  ever  forget,  and  don't  you  ever  let  me 
forget,  how  the  old  Squire  has  helped  us  out  of  this 
scrape,"  Ad  said  to  me  that  night  after  we  had  gone 
upstairs.  "  He's  an  old  Christian.  If  he  ever  needs  a 
friend  in  his  old  age  and  I  fail  him,  let  my  name  be 
Ichabod!" 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE   UNPARDONABLE   SIN 

DURING  the  first  week  in  May  the  old  Squire  and 
grandmother  Ruth  made  a  trip  to  Portland, 
and  when  they  came  back,  they  brought,  among 
other  presents  to  us  young  folks  at  home,  a  glass  jar 
of  goldfish  for  Ellen. 

In  Ellen's  early  home,  before  the  Civil  War  and  be- 
fore she  came  to  the  old  Squire's  to  live,  there  had 
always  been  a  jar  of  goldfish  in  the  window,  and  after- 
wards at  the  old  farm  the  girl  had  often  remarked  that 
she  missed  it.  Well  I  remember  the  cry  of  joy  she 
gave  that  day  when  grandmother  stepped  down  from 
the  wagon  at  the  farmhouse  door  and,  turning,  took  a 
glass  jar  of  goldfish  from  under  the  seat. 

"  O  grandmother !  "  she  cried  and  fairly  flew  to  take 
it  from  the  old  lady's  hands. 

Ellen  had  eyes  for  nothing  else  that  evening,  and  as 
it  grew  dark  she  went  time  and  again  with  a  lamp  to 
look  at  the  fish  and  to  drop  in  crumbs  of  cracker. 

During  the  four  days  4;he  old  folks  were  away  we 
had  run  free;  games  and  jokes  had  been  in  full  swing. 
There  was  still  mischief  in  us,  for  the  next  morning 
when  we  came  down  to  do  the  chores  before  any  one 
else  was  up,  Addison  said : 

"  Let's  have  some  fun  with  Nell ;  she'll  be  down 
here  pretty  quick.  Get  some  fish  poles  and  strings  and 
bend  up  some  pins  for  hooks  and  we'll  pretend  to  be 
fishing  in  the  jar!  " 

In  a  few  minutes  we  each  had  rigged  up  a  semblance 
of  fishing  tackle  and  were  ready.  When  Ellen  opened 
the  sitting-room  door  a  little  later  the  sight  that  met 

113 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

her  astonished  eyes  took  her  breath  away.  Addison 
was  calmly  fishing  in  the  jar! 

"What  are  you  doing?"  she  cried.  "My  gold- 
fish!" 

Addison  fled  out  of  the  room  with  Ellen  in  hot  pur- 
suit; she  finally  caught  him,  seized  the  rod  and  broke 
it.  But  when  she  turned  back  to  see  what  damages  her 
adored  fish  had  suffered,  she  beheld  Halstead,  perched 
over  the  jar,  also  fishing  in  it. 

"  My  senses !  You  here,  too !  "  she  cried.  "  Can't  a 
boy  see  a  fish  without  wanting  to  catch  it?  " 

When  she  hurried  back  in  a  flurry  of  anxiety  after 
chasing  him  to  the  carriage  house,  she  found  me  there, 
too,  pretending  to  yank  one  out.  But  by  this  time  she 
saw  that  it  was  a  joke,  and  the  box  on  the  ear  that  she 
gave  me  was  not  a  very  hard  one. 

"  Seems  to  me,  young  folks,  I  heard  quite  too  much 
noise  down  here  for  Sunday  morning,"  grandmother 
said  severely  when  she  appeared  a  little  later.  "  Such 
racing  and  running !  You  really  must  have  better  re- 
gard for  the  day." 

Preparations  for  breakfast  went  on  in  a  subdued 
manner,  and  we  were  sitting  at  table  rather  quietly 
when  a  caller  appeared  at  the  door — Mrs.  Rufus  Syl- 
vester, who  lived  about  a  mile  from  us.  Her  face  wore 
a  look  of  anxiety. 

"  Squire,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  implore  you  to  come 
over  and  say  something  to  Rufus !  He's  terrible  down- 
cast this  morning.  He  went  out  to  the  barn,  but  he 
hasn't  milked,  nor  done  his  chores.  He's  settin'  out 
there  with  his  face  in  his  hands,  groanin'.  I'm  afraid, 
Squire,  he  may  try  to  take  his  own  life !  " 

The  old  Squire  rose  from  the  table  and  led  Mrs. 
Sylvester  into  the  sitting-room ;  grandmother  followed 
them  and  carefully  shut  the  door  behind  her.  We 
heard  them  speaking  in  low  tones  for  some  moments ; 
then  they  came  out,  and  both  the  old  Squire  and 
grandmother  Ruth  set  off  with  Mrs.  Sylvester. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    115 

"  Is  he  ill  ?  "  Theodora  whispered  to  grandmother  as 
the  old  lady  passed  her. 

"  No,  child ;  he  is  melancholy  this  spring,"  the  old 
lady  replied.  "  He  is  afraid  he  has  committed  the  un- 
pardonable sin." 

The  old  folks  and  our  caller  left  us  finishing  our 
breakfast,  and  I  recollect  that  for  some  time  none  of  us 
spoke.  Our  recent  unseemly  hilarity  had  vanished. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  Sylvester's  done  ?  "  Hal- 
stead  asked  at  last,  with  a  glance  at  Theodora ;  then,  as 
she  did  not  seem  inclined  to  hazard  conjectures  on  that 
subject,  he  addressed  himself  to  Addison,  who  was 
trying  to  extract  a  second  cup  of  coffee  from  the  big 
coffeepot. 

"  You  know  everything,  Addison,  or  think  you  do. 
What  is  this  unpardonable  sin?  " 

"  Cousin  Halstead,"  Addison  replied,  not  relishing 
the  manner  in  which  he  had  put  the  question,  "  you  are 
likely  enough  to  find  that  out  for  yourself  if  you  don't 
mend  some  of  your  bad  ways  here." 

Halstead  flamed  up  and  muttered  something  about 
the  self-righteousness  of  a  certain  member  of  the 
family ;  but  Theodora  then  remarked  tactfully  that,  as 
nearly  as  she  could  understand  it,  the  unpardonable  sin 
is  something  we  do  that  can  never  be  forgiven. 

Some  months  before  Elder  Witham  had  preached  a 
sermon  in  which  he  had  set  forth  the  doctrine  of  pre- 
destination and  the  unpardonable  sin,  but  I  have  to 
confess  that  none  of  us  could  remember  what  he  had 
said. 

"  I  think  it's  in  the  Bible,"  Theodora  added,  and, 
going  into  the  sitting-room,  she  fetched  forth  grand- 
mother Ruth's  concordance  Bible  and  asked  Addison 
to  help  her  find  the  references.  Turning  first  to  one 
text,  then  to  another,  for  some  minutes  they  read  the 
passages  aloud,  but  did  not  find  anything  conclusive. 
The  discussion  had  put  me  in  a  rather  disturbed  state 
of  mind  in  regard  to  several  things  I  had  done  at  one 


116    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

time  and  another,  and  I  suppose  I  looked  sober,  for  I 
saw  Addison  regarding  me  curiously.  He  continued 
to  glance  at  me,  clearly  with  intention,  and  shook  his 
head  gloomily  several  times  until  Ellen  noticed  it  and 
exclaimed  in  my  behalf,  "  Well,  I  guess  he  stands  as 
good  a  chance  as  you  do !  " 

Two  hours  or  so  later  the  old  Squire  and  grand- 
mother returned,  thoughtfully  silent;  they  did  not  tell 
us  what  had  occurred,  and  it  was  not  until  a  good 
many  years  later,  when  Theodora,  Halstead  and  Addi- 
son had  left  the  old  farm,  that  I  learned  what  had  hap- 
pened that  morning  at  the  Sylvester  place.  The  old 
Squire  and  I  were  driving  home  from  the  village  when 
something  brought  the  incident  to  his  mind,  and,  since 
I  was  now  old  enough  to  understand,  he  related  what 
had  occurred. 

When  they  reached  the  Sylvester  farm  that  morning 
grandmother  went  indoors  with  Mrs.  Sylvester,  and 
the  old  Squire  proceeded  to  the  barn.  All  was  very 
dark  and  still  there,  and  it  was  some  moments  before 
he  discovered  Ruf us ;  the  man  was  sitting  on  a  heck- 
ling block  at  the  far  dark  end  of  the  barn,  huddled 
down,  with  his  head  bowed  in  his  hands. 

"  Good  morning,  neighbor !  "  the  old  Squire  said 
cheerily.  "  A  fine  Sabbath  morning.  Spring  never 
looked  more  promising  for  us." 

Rufus  neither  stirred  nor  answered.  The  old  Squire 
drew  near  and  laid  his  hand  gently  on  his  shoulder. 

"Is  it  something  you  could  tell  me  about  ? "  he 
asked. 

Rufus  groaned  and  raised  two  dreary  eyes  from  his 
hands.  "  Oh,  I  can't !  I'm  'shamed.  It's  nothin'  I  can 
tell !  "  he  cried  out  miserably  and  then  burst  into  fear- 
ful sobs. 

"  Don't  let  me  ask,  then,  unless  you  think  it  might 
do  you  good,"  the  old  Squire  said. 

"  Nothin'll  ever  do  me  any  good  again ! "  Rufus 
cried.  "  I'm  beyond  it,  Squire.  I'm  a  lost  soul.  The 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    117 

door  of  mercy  is  closed  on  me,  Squire.    I've  committed 
the  unpardonable  sin !  " 

The  old  Squire  saw  that  no  effort  to  cheer  Rufus 
that  did  not  go  to  the  root  of  his  misery  would  avail 
Sitting-  down  beside  him,  he  said : 

"  A  great  many  of  us  sometimes  fear  that  we  have 
committed  the  unpardonable  sin.  But  there  is  one  sure 
way  of  knowing  whether  a  person  has  committed  it  or 
not.  I  once  knew  a  man  who  in  a  drunken  brawl  had 
killed  another.  He  was  convicted  of  manslaughter, 
served  his  term  in  prison,  then  went  back  to  his  farm 
and  worked  hard  and  well  for  ten  years.  One  spring 
that  former  crime  began  to  weigh  on  his  mind.  He 
brooded  on  it  and  finally  became  convinced  that  he  had 
committed  the  sin  for  which  there  can  be  no  forgive- 
ness. He  wanted  desperately  to  atone  for  what  he  had 
done,  and  the  idea  got  possession  of  his  mind  that  since 
he  had  taken  a  human  life  the  only  way  for  him  was 
to  take  his  own  life — a  life  for  a  life.  The  next 
morning  they  found  that  he  had  hanged  himself  in  his 
barn. 

"  The  young  minister  who  was  asked  to  officiate  at 
the  funeral  declined  to  do  so  on  doctrinal  grounds ;  and 
the  burial  was  about  to  take  place  without  even  a 
prayer  at  the  grave  when  a  stranger  hurriedly  ap- 
proached. He  was  a  celebrated  divine  who  had  heard 
the  circumstances  of  the  man's  death  and  who  had 
journeyed  a  hundred  miles  to  offer  his  services  at 
the  burial. 

"  *  My  good  friends/  the  stranger  began,  '  I  have 
come  to  rectify  a  great  mistake.  This  poor  fellow 
mortal  whose  body  you  are  committing  to  its  last  rest- 
ing place  mistook  the  full  measure  of  God's  com- 
passion. He  believed  that  he  had  committed  that  sin 
for  which  there  is  no  forgiveness.  In  his  extreme 
anxiety  to  atone  for  his  former  crime,  he  was  led  to 
commit  another,  for  God  requires  no  man  to  commit 
suicide,  and  his  Word  expressly  forbids  it  My 


118    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

friends,  I  am  here  to-day  to  tell  you  that  there  is 
only  one  sin  for  which  there  is  no  forgiveness,  and 
that  is  the  sin  which  we  do  not  repent.  That  alone  is 
the  unpardonable  sin.  This  man  was  sincerely  sorry 
for  his  sin,  and  I  am  as  certain  that  God  has  forgiven 
him  as  I  am  that  I  am  standing  here  by  his  grave.'  ' 

As  the  old  Squire  spoke,  Rufus  raised  his  head,  and 
a  ray  of  hope  broke  across  his  woebegone  face. 

"  Now  the  question  is,"  the  old  Squire  continued, 
"  are  you  sorry  for  what  you  did  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Squire,  yes !  I'm  terribly  sorry !  "  he 
cried  eagerly.  "  I  do  repent  of  it !  I  never  in  the  world 
would  do  such  a  thing  again !  " 

"  Then  what  you  have  done  was  not  the  unpardon- 
able sin  at  all !  "  the  old  Squire  exclaimed  confidently. 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  Rufus  cried  imploringly. 

"  I  know  so ! "  the  old  Squire  declared  authorita- 
tively. "  Now  let's  feed  those  cows  and  your  horse. 
Then  we  will  go  out  and  take  a  look  at  the  fields  where 
you  are  going  to  put  in  a  crop  this  spring." 

When  the  old  Squire  and  grandmother  Ruth  came 
away  the  shadows  at  the  Sylvester  farm  had  visibly 
lifted,  and  life  was  resuming  its  normal  course  there. 
They  had  proceeded  only  a  short  distance  on  their 
homeward  way,  however,  when  they  heard  footsteps 
behind,  and  saw  Rufus  hastening  after  them  bare- 
headed. 

c<  Tell  me,  Squire,  what  d'ye  think  I  ought  to  do 
about  that — what  I  done  once?  "  he  cried. 

"  Well,  Rufus,"  the  old  Squire  replied,  "  that  is  a 
matter  you  must  settle  with  your  own  conscience. 
Since  you  ask  me,  I  should  say  that,  if  the  wrong  you 
did  can  be  righted  in  any  way,  you  had  better  try  to 
right  it." 

"  I  will.  I  can.  That's  what  I  will  do!  "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"I  feel  sure  you  will,"  the  old  Squire  said;  and 
Rufus  went  back,  looking  much  relieved. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    119 

"  Did  you  ever  find  out  just  what  it  was  that  Syl- 
vester had  done  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Well,  never  exactly,"  the  old  Squire  replied,  smil- 
ing. "  But  I  made  certain  surmises.  Less  than  a  fort- 
night after  my  talk  with  Rufus  our  neighbors,  the 
Wilburs,  were  astonished  one  morning  to  find  that 
during  the  night  a  full  barrel  of  salt  pork  had  been  set 
on  their  porch  by  the  kitchen  door.  Every  mark  had 
been  carefully  scraped  off  the  barrel,  but  on  the  top 
head  were  the  words,  printed  with  a  lead  pencil,  '  This 
is  yourn  and  I  am  sorry/  . 

"  Fourteen  years  before,  the  Wilburs  had  lost  a 
large  hog  very  mysteriously.  At  that  time  domestic 
animals  were  allowed  to  run  about  much  more  freely 
than  at  present,  and  they  often  strayed  along  the  high- 
way. Sylvester  was  always  in  poor  circumstances; 
and  I  believe  that  Wilbur's  hog  came  along  the  road  by 
night  and  that  Rufus  was  tempted  to  make  way  with  it 
privately  and  to  conceal  all  traces  of  the  theft. 

"  In  spite  of  the  words  on  the  head  of  the  barrel, 
Mr.  Wilbur  was  in  some  doubt  what  to  do  with  the 
pork  and  asked  my  advice.  I  told  him  that  if  I  were  in 
his  place  I  should  keep  it  and  say  nothing.  But  I  didn't 
tell  him  of  my  talk  with  Sylvester  about  the  unpardon- 
able sin,"  the  old  gentleman  added,  smiling.  "  That 
was  hardly  a  proper  subject  for  gossip." 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE  CANTALOUPE   COAXER 

EVERY  spring  at  the  old  farm  we  used  to  put  in  a 
row  of  hills  for  cantaloupes  and  another  for 
watermelons.  But,  truth  to  say,  our  planting 
melons,  like  our  efforts  to  raise  peaches  and  grapes, 
was  always  more  or  less  of  a  joke,  for  frosts  usually 
killed  the  vines  before  the  melons  were  half  grown. 
Nevertheless,  spring  always  filled  us  with  fresh  hope 
that  the  summer  would  prove  warm,  and  that  frosts 
would  hold  off  until  October.  But  we  never  really 
raised  a  melon  fit  for  the  table  until  the  old  Squire  and 
Addison  invented  the  "  haymaker." 

To  make  hay  properly  we  thought  we  needed  two 
successive  days  of  sun.  When  rain  falls  nearly  every 
day  haying  comes  to  a  standstill,  for  if  the  mown  grass 
is  left  in  the  field  it  blackens  and  rots ;  if  it  is  drawn  to 
the  barn,  it  turns  musty  in  the  mow.  Usually  the  sun 
does  its  duty,  but  once  in  a  while  there  comes  a  summer 
in  Maine  when  there  is  so  much  wet  weather  that  it  is 
nearly  impossible  to  harvest  the  hay  crop.  Such  a 
summer  was  that  of  1868. 

At  the  old  farm  our  rule  was  to  begin  haying  the 
day  after  the  Fourth  of  July  and  to  push  the  work  as 
fast  as  possible,  so  as  to  get  in  most  of  the  crop  before 
dog-days.  That  summer  I  remember  we  had  mowed 
four  acres  of  grass  on  the  morning  of  the  fifth.  But 
in  the  afternoon  the  sky  clouded,  the  night  turned  wet, 
and  the  sun  scarcely  showed  again  for  a  week.  A  day 
and  a  half  of  clear  weather  followed;  but  showers 
came  before  the  sodden  swaths  could  be  shaken  up  and 
the  moisture  dried  out,  and  then  dull  or  wet  days 

120 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S,   121 

followed  for  a  week  longer ;  that  is,  to  the  twenty-first 
of  the  month.  Not  a  hundredweight  of  hay  had  we 
put  into  the  barn,  and  the  first  hay  we  had  mown  had 
spoiled  in  the  field. 

At  such  times  the  northeastern  farmer  must  keep  his 
patience — if  he  can.  The  old  Squire  had  seen  Maine 
weather  for  many  years  and  had  learned  the  useless- 
ness  of  fretting.  He  looked  depressed,  but  merely  said 
that  Halstead  and  I  might  as  well  begin  going  to  the 
district  school  with  the  girls. 

In  the  summer  we  usually  had  to  work  on  the  farm 
during  good  weather,  as  boys  of  our  age  usually  did  in 
those  days ;  but  it  was  now  too  wet  to  hoe  corn  or  to 
do  other  work  in  the  field.  We  could  do  little  except 
to  wait  for  fair  weather.  Addison,  who  was  older 
than  I,  did  not  go  back  to  school  and  spent  much  of 
the  time  poring  over  a  pile  of  old  magazines  up  in 
the  attic. 

Halstead  and  I  had  been  going  to  school  for  four  or 
five  days  when  on  coming  home  one  afternoon  we 
found  a  great  stir  of  activity  round  the  west  barn. 
Timbers  and  boards  had  been  fetched  from  an  old 
shed  on  the  "  Aunt  Hannah  lot " — a  family  appurte- 
nance of  the  home  farm — and  lay  heaped  on  the 
ground.  Two  of  the  hired  men  were  laying  founda- 
tion stones  along  the  side  of  the  barn.  Addison,  who 
had  just  driven  in  with  a  load  of  long  rafters  from  the 
old  Squire's  mill  on  Lurvey's  Stream,  called  to  us  to 
help  him  unload  them. 

'''  Why,  what's  going  to  be  built?  "  we  exclaimed. 

"  Haymaker,"  he  replied  shortly. 

The  answer  did  not  enlighten  us. 

'  'Haymaker'  ?  "  repeated  Halstead  wonderingly. 

:<  Yes,  haymaker,"  said  Addison.  "  So  bear  a  hand 
here.  We've  got  to  hurry,  too,  if  we  are  to  make  any 
hay  this  year."  He  then  told  us  that  the  old  Squire  had 
driven  to  the  village  six  miles  away,  to  get  a  load  of 
hothouse  glass.  While  we  stood  pondering  that  bit  of 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

puzzling- 'in  format  ion,  a  third  hired  man  drove  into  the 
yard  on  a  heavy  wagon  drawn  by  a  span  of  work 
horses.  On  the  wagon  was  the  old  fire  box  and  the 
boiler  of  a  stationary  steam  engine  that  we  had  had  for 
some  time  in  the  shook  shop  a  mile  down  the  road. 

We  learned  at  supper  that  Addison  and  the  old 
Squire,  having  little  to  do  that  day  except  watch  the 
weather,  had  put  their  heads  together  and  hatched  a 
plan  to  make  hay  from  freshly  mown  grass  without  the 
aid  of  the  sun.  I  have  always  understood  that  the  plan 
originated  in  something  that  Addison  had  read,  or  in 
some  picture  that  he  had  seen  in  one  of  the  magazines 
in  the  garret.  But  the  old  Squire,  who  had  a  spice  of 
Yankee  inventiveness  in  him,  had  improved  on  Addi- 
son's  first  notion  by  suggesting  a  glass  roof,  set  aslant 
to  a  south  exposure,  so  as  to  utilize  the  rays  of  the  sun 
when  it  did  shine. 

The  haymaker  was  simply  a  long  shed  built  against 
the  south  side  of  the  barn.  The  front  and  the  ends 
were  boarded  up  to  a  height  of  eight  feet  from  the 
ground.  At  that  height  strong  cedar  cross  poles  were 
laid,  six  inches  apart,  so  as  to  form  a  kind  of  rack,  on 
which  the  freshly  mown  grass  could  be  pitched  from 
a  cart. 

The  glass  roof  was  put  on  as  soon  as  the  glass  ar- 
rived; it  slanted  at  an  angle  of  perhaps  forty  degrees 
from  the  front  of  the  shed  up  to  the  eaves  of  the  barn. 
The  rafters,  which  were  twenty-six  feet  in  length, 
were  hemlock  scantlings  eight  inches  wide  and  two 
inches  thick,  set  edgewise;  the  panes  of  glass,  which 
were  eighteen  inches  wide  by  twenty- four  inches  long, 
were  laid  in  rows  upon  the  rafters  like  shingles.  The 
space  between  the  rack  of  poles  and  the  glass  roof  was 
of  course  pervious  to  the  sun  rays  and  often  became 
very  warm.  Three  scuttles,  four  feet  square,  set  low 
in  the  glass  roof  and  guarded  by  a  framework,  enabled 
us  to  pitch  the  grass  from  the  cart  directly  into  the 
loft;  and  I  may  add  here  that  the  dried  hay  could  be 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    12S 

pitched  into  the  haymow  through  apertures  in  the  side 
of  the  barn. 

That  season  the  sun  scarcely  shone  at  all.  The  old 
fire  box  and  boiler  were  needed  most  of  the  time.  We 
installed  the  antiquated  apparatus  under  the  open  floor 
virtually  in  the  middle  of  the  long  space  beneath, 
where  it  served  as  a  hot-air  furnace.  The  tall  smoke 
pipe  rose  to  a  considerable  height  above  the  roof  of  the 
barn ;  and  to  guard  against  fire  we  carefully  protected 
with  sheet  iron  everything  round  it  and  round  the  fire 
box.  As  the  boiler  was  already  worn  out  and  unsafe 
for  steam,  we  put  no  water  into  it  and  made  no  effort 
to  prevent  the  tubes  from  shrinking.  For  fuel  we  used 
slabs  from  the  sawmill.  The  fire  box  and  boiler  gave 
forth  a  great  deal  of  heat,  which  rose  through  the 
layer  of  grass  on  the  poles. 

The  entire  length  of  the  loft  was  seventy-four  feet, 
and  the  width  was  nineteen  feet.  We  threw  the  grass 
in  at  the  scuttles  and  spread  it  round  in  a  layer  about 
eighteen  inches  thick.  As  thus  charged,  the  loft  would 
hold  about  as  much  hay  as  grew  on  an  acre.  From 
four  to  seven  hours  were  needed  to  make  the  grass  into 
hay,  but  the  time  varied  according  as  the  grass  was  dry 
or  green  and  damp  when  mown.  Once  in  the  haymaker 
it  dried  so  fast  that  you  could  often  see  a  cloud  of 
steam  rising  from  the  scuttles  in  the  glass  roof,  which 
had  to  be  left  partly  open  to  make  a  draft  from  below. 

Of  course,  we  used  artificial  heat  only  in  wet  or 
cloudy  weather.  When  the  sun  came  out  brightly  we 
depended  on  solar  heat.  Perhaps  half  a  day  served  to 
make  a  "  charge  "  of  grass  into  hay,  if  we  turned 
it  and  shook  it  well  in  the  loft.  Passing  the  grass 
through  the  haymaker  required  no  more  work  than 
making  hay  in  the  field  in  good  weather. 

In  subsequent  seasons  when  the  sun  shone  nearly 
every  day  during  haying  time  we  used  it  less.  But 
when  thundershowers  or  occasional  fogs  or  heavy  dew 
came  it  was  always  open  to  us  to  pu«t  the  grass  through 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

the  haymaker.  In  a  wet  season  it  gave  us  a  delight- 
ful feeling  of  independence.  "  Let  it  rain,"  the  old 
Squire  used  to  say  with  a  smile.  "  We've  got  the 
haymaker." 

Late  in  September  the  first  fall  after  we  built  the 
haymaker,  there  came  a  heavy  gale  that  blew  off  fully 
one  half  the  apple  crop — Baldwins,  Greenings,  Blue 
Pearmains  and  Spitzenburgs.  Since  we  could  barrel 
none  of  the  windfalls  as  number  one  fruit,  that  part  of 
our  harvest,  more  than  a  thousand  bushels,  seemed 
likely  to  prove  a  loss.  The  old  Squire  would  never 
make  cider  to  sell;  and  we  young  folks  at  the  farm, 
particularly  Theodora  and  Ellen,  disliked  exceedingly 
to  dry  apples  by  hand. 

But  there  lay  all  those  fair  apples.  It  seemed  such 
a  shame  to  let  them  go  to  waste  that  the  matter  was  on 
all  our  minds.  At  the  breakfast  table  one  morning 
Ellen  remarked  that  we  might  use  the  haymaker  for 
drying  apples  if  we  only  had  some  one  to  pare  and 
slice  them. 

"  But  I  cannot  think  of  any  one/'  she  added  hastily, 
fearful  lest  she  be  asked  to  do  the  work  evenings. 

"  Nor  can  I,"  Theodora  added  with  equal  haste, 
"  unless  some  of  those  paupers  at  the  town  farm  could 
be  set  about  it." 

"  Poor  paupers ! "  Addison  exclaimed,  laughing. 
"Too  bad!" 

"  Lazy  things,  I  say !  "  grandmother  exclaimed. 
"  There's  seventeen  on  the  farm,  and  eight  of  them 
are  abundantly  able  to  work  and  earn  their  keep." 

"  Yes,  if  they  only  had  the  wit,"  the  old  Squire  said ; 
he  was  one  of  the  selectmen  that  year,  and  he  felt 
much  solicitude  for  the  town  poor. 

"  Perhaps  they've  wit  enough  to  pare  apples,"  Theo- 
dora remarked  hopefully. 

"  Maybe,"  the  old  Squire  said  in  doubt.  "  So  far  as 
they  are  able  they  ought  to  work,  just  as  those  who 
have  to  support  them  must  work." 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     125 

The  old  Squire,  after  consulting  with  the  two  other 
selectmen,  finally  offered  five  of  the  paupers  fifty  cents 
a  day  and  their  board  if  they  would  come  to  our  place 
and  dry  apples.  Three  of  the  five  were  women,  one 
was  an  elderly  man,  and  the  fifth  was  a  not  over- 
bright  youngster  of  eighteen.  So  far  from  disliking 
the  project  all  five  hailed  it  with  delight. 

Having  paupers  round  the  place  was  by  no  means  an 
unmixed  pleasure.  We  equipped  them  with  apple 
parers,  corers  and  slicers  and  set  them  to  work  in  the 
basement  of  the  haymaker.  Large  trays  of  woven 
wire  were  prepared  to  be  set  in  rows  on  the  rack  over- 
head. It  was  then  October ;  the  fire  necessary  to  keep 
the  workers  warm  was  enough  to  dry  the  trays  of  sliced 
apples  almost  as  fast  as  they  could  be  filled. 

For  more  than  a  month  the  five  paupers  worked 
there,  sometimes  well,  sometimes  badly.  They  dried 
nearly  two  tons  of  apples,  which,  if  I  remember  right, 
brought  six  cents  a  pound  that  year.  The  profit  from 
that  venture  alone  nearly  paid  for  the  haymaker. 

The  weather  was  bright  the  next  haying  time,  so 
bright  indeed  that  it  was  scarcely  worth  while  to  dry 
grass  in  the  haymaker;  and  the  next  summer  was  just 
as  sunny.  It  was  in  the  spring  of  that  second  year  that 
Theodora  and  Ellen  asked  whether  they  might  not  put 
their  boxes  of  flower  seeds  and  tomato  seeds  into  the 
haymaker  to  give  them  an  earlier  start,  for  the  spring 
suns  warmed  the  ground  under  the  glass  roof  while  the 
snow  still  lay  on  the  ground  outside.  In  Maine  it  is 
never  safe  to  plant  a  garden  much  before  the  middle  of 
May ;  but  we  sometimes  tried  to  get  an  earlier  start  by 
means  of  hotbeds  on  the  south  side  of  the  farm  build- 
ings. In  that  way  we  used  to  start  tomatoes,  radishes, 
lettuce  and  even  sweet  corn,  early  potatoes,  carrots  and 
other  vegetables,  and  then  transplanted  them  to  the 
open  garden  when  settled  warm  weather  came. 

The  girls'  suggestion  gave  us  the  idea  of  using  the 
haymaker  as  a  big  hothouse.  The  large  area  under 


126    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

glass  made  the  scheme  attractive.  On  the  2d  of  April 
we  prepared  the  ground  and  planted  enough  garden 
seeds  of  all  kinds  to  produce  plants  enough  for  an  acre 
of  land.  The  plants  came  up  quickly  and  thrived  and 
were  successfully  transplanted.  A  great  victory  was 
thus  won  over  adverse  nature  and  climate.  We  had 
sweet  corn,  green  peas  and  everything  else  that  a  large 
garden  yields  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks  earlier  than 
we  ever  had  had  them  before,  and  in  such  abundance 
that  we  were  able  to  sell  the  surplus  profitably  at  the 
neighboring  village. 

The  sweet  corn,  tomatoes  and  other  vegetables  were 
transplanted  to  the  outer  garden  ea-rly  in  June.  Addi- 
son  then  suggested  that  we  plant  the  ground  under  the 
haymaker  to  cantaloupes,  and  on  the  4th  of  June  we 
planted  forty-five  hills  with  seed. 

The  venture  proved  the  most  successful  of  all.  The 
melon  plants  came  up  as  well  as  they  could  have  done 
in  Colorado  or  Arizona.  It  is  astonishing  how  many 
cantaloupes  will  grow  on  a  plot  of  ground  seventy-four 
feet  long  by  nineteen  feet  wide.  On  the  i6th  of  Sep- 
tember we  counted  nine  hundred  and  fifty-four  melons, 
many  of  them  large  and  nearly  all  of  them  yellow  and 
finely  ripened !  They  had  matured  in  ninety  days. 

In  fact,  the  crop  proved  an  "  embarrassment  of 
riches."  We  feasted  on  them  ourselves  and  gave  to 
our  neighbors,  and  yet  our  store  did  not  visibly 
diminish.  The  county  fair  occurred  on  September  22 
that  fall;  and  Addison  suggested  loading  a  farm 
wagon — one  with  a  body  fifteen  feet  long — with  about 
eight  hundred  of  the  cantaloupes  and  tempting  the 
public  appetite — at  ten  cents  a  melon.  The  girls  helped 
us  to  decorate  the  wagon  attractively  with  asters, 
dahlias,  galdenrod  and  other  autumn  flowers,  and  they 
lined  the  wagon  body  with  paper.  It  really  did  look 
fine,  with  all  those  yellow  melons  in  it.  We  hired  our 
neighbor,  Tom  Edwards,  who  had  a  remarkably  reso- 
nant voice,  to  act  as  a  "  barker  "  for  us. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    127 

The  second  day  of  the  fair — the  day  on  which  the 
greatest  crowd  usually  attends — we  arrived  with  our 
load  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  took  up  a  favor- 
able position  on  the  grounds  and  cut  a  couple  of 
melons  in  halves  to  show  how  yellow  and  luscious  they 
were. 

"  All  ready,  now,  Tom !  "  Addison  exclaimed  when 
our  preparations  were  made.  "  Let's  hear  you  earn 
that  two  dollars  we've  got  to  pay  you." 

Walking  round  in  circles,  Tom  began : 

"  Muskmelons  !  Muskmelons  grown  under  glass ! 
Home-grown  muskmelons !  Maine  muskmelons  grown 
under  a  glass  roof!  Sweet  and  luscious!  Only  ten 
cents!  Walk  up,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  see  what 
your  old  native  state  can  do — under  glass !  Walk  up, 
young  fellows,  and  treat  your  girls !  Don't  be  stingy ! 
Only  ten  cents  apiece — and  one  of  these  luscious 
melons  will  treat  three  big  girls  or  five  little  ones !  A 
paper  napkin  with  every  melon!  Don't  wait!  They 
are  going  fast !  All  be  gone  before  ten  o'clock !  Try 
one  and  see  what  the  old  Pine  Tree  State  will  do — 
under  glass !  " 

That  is  far  from  being  the  whole  of  Tom's  "  bally- 
hoo." Walking  round  and  round  in  ever  larger  circles, 
he  constantly  varied  his  praises  and  his  jokes.  But  the 
melons  were  their  own  best  advertisement.  All  who 
bought  them  pronounced  them  delicious;  and  fre- 
quently they  bought  one  or  two  more  to  prove  to  their 
friends  how  good  they  were. 

At  ten  o'clock  we  still  had  a  good  many  melons ;  but 
toward  noon  business  became  very  brisk,  and  at  one 
o'clock  only  six  melons  were  left. 

In  honor  of  this  crop  we  rechristened  the  old  hay- 
maker the  "  cantaloupe  coaxer." 


CHAPTER    XVI 

THE   STRANGE    DISAPPEARANCE   OF   GRANDPA    EDWARDS 

THERE  was  so  much  to  do  at  the  old  farm  that 
we  rarely  found  time  to  play  games.  But  we 
had  a  croquet  set  that  Theodora,  Ellen  and  their 
girl  neighbor,  Catherine  Edwards,  occasionally  carried 
out  to  a  little  wicketed  court  just  east  of  the  apple 
house  in  the  rear  of  the  farm  buildings. 

Halstead  rather  disdained  the  game  as  too  tame  for 
boys  and  Addison  so  easily  outplayed  the  rest  of  us 
that  there  was  not  much  fun  in  it  for  him,  unless,  as 
Theodora  used  to  say,  he  played  with  one  hand  in  his 
pocket.  But  as  we  were  knocking  the  balls  about  one 
evening  while  we  decided  which  of  us  should  play,  we 
saw  Catherine  crossing  the  west  field.  She  had  heard 
our  voices  and  was  making  haste  to  reach  us.  As  she 
approached,  we  saw  that  she  looked  anxious. 

"Has  grandpa  been  over  here  to-day?"  her  first 
words  were.  "  He's  gone.  He  went  out  right  after 
breakfast  this  morning,  and  he  hasn't  come  back. 

"  After  he  went  out,  Tom  saw  him  down  by  the  line 
wall,"  she  continued  hurriedly.  "  We  thought  perhaps 
he  had  gone  to  the  Corners  by  the  meadow-brook  path. 
But  he  didn't  come  to  dinner.  We  are  beginning  to 
wonder  where  he  is.  Tom's  just  gone  to  the  Corners 
to  see  if  he  is  there." 

"  Why,  no,"  we  said.  "  He  hasn't  been  here  to-day." 

The  two  back  windows  at  the  rear  of  the  kitchen 
were  down,  and  Ellen,  who  was  washing  dishes  there, 
overheard  what  Catherine  had  said,  and  spoke  to 
grandmother  Ruth,  who  called  the  old  Squire. 

"  That's  a  little  strange,"  he  said  when  Catherine 


ifc> 

128 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    129 

had  repeated  her  tidings  to  him.  "  But  I  rather  think 
it  is  nothing  serious.  He  may  have  gone  on  from  the 
Corners  to  the  village.  I  shouldn't  worry." 

Grandpa  Jonathan  Edwards — distantly  related  to 
the  stern  New  England  divine  of  that  name — was  a 
sturdy,  strong  old  man  sixty-seven  years  of  age,  two 
years  older  than  our  old  Squire,  and  a  friend  and 
neighbor  of  his  from  boyhood.  With  this  youthful 
friend,  Jock,  the  old  Squire — who  then  of  course  was 
young — had  journeyed  to  Connecticut  to  buy  merino 
sheep :  that  memorable  trip  when  they  met  with  Anice 
and  Ruth  Pepperill,  the  two  girls  whom  they  subse- 
quently married  and  brought  home. 

For  the  last  seventeen  years  matters  had  not  been 
going  prosperously  or  happily  at  the  Edwards  farm. 
Jonathan's  only  son,  Jotham  (Catherine  and  Tom's 
father),  had  married  at  the  age  of  twenty  and  come 
home  to  live.  The  old  folks  gave  him  the  deed  of  the 
farm  and  accepted  only  a  "  maintenance  "  on  it — not 
an  uncommon  mode  of  procedure.  Quite  naturally, 
no  doubt,  after  taking  the  farm  off  his  father's  hands, 
marrying  and  having  a  family  of  his  own,  this  son, 
Jotham,  wished  to  manage  the  farm  as  he  saw  fit.  He 
was  a  fairly  kind,  well-meaning  man,  but  he  had  a 
hasty  temper  and  was  a  poor  manager.  His  plans 
seemed  never  to  prosper,  and  the  farm  ran  down,  to 
the  great  sorrow  and  dissatisfaction  of  his  father, 
Jonathan,  whose  good  advice  was  wholly  disregarded. 
The  farm  lapsed  under  a  mortgage ;  the  buildings  went 
unrepaired,  unpainted ;  and  the  older  man  experienced 
the  constant  grief  of  seeing  the  place  that  had  been  so 
dear  to  him  going  wrong  and  getting  into  worse  con- 
dition every  year. 

Of  course  we  young  folks  did  not  at  that  time  know 
or  understand  much  about  all  this ;  but  I  have  learned 
since  that  Jonathan  often  unbosomed  his  troubles  to 
the  old  Squire,  who  sympathized  with  him,  but  who 
could  do  little  to  improve  matters. 


180    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

Jotham's  wife  was  a  worthy  woman,  and  I  never 
heard  that  she  did  not  treat  the  old  folks  well.  It  was 
the  bad  management  and  the  constantly  growing  stress 
of  straitened  circumstances  that  so  worried  Jonathan. 

Then,  two  years  before  we  young  folks  came  home 
to  live  at  the  old  Squire's,  Aunt  Anice,  as  the  neighbors 
called  her,  died  suddenly  of  a  sharp  attack  of  pleurisy. 
That  left  Jonathan  alone  in  the  household  of  his  son 
and  family.  He  seemed,  so  the  old  Squire  told  me 
later,  to  lose  heart  entirely  after  that,  and  sat  about  or 
wandered  over  the  farm  in  a  state  of  constant  dis- 
content. 

I  fear,  too,  that  his  grandson,  Tom,  was  not  an  un- 
mixed comfort  to  him.  Tom  did  not  mean  to  hurt  his 
grandfather's  feelings.  He  was  a  good-hearted  boy, 
but  impetuous  and  somewhat  hasty.  More  than  once 
we  heard  him  go  on  to  tell  what  great  things  he  meant 
to  do  at  home,  "  after  grandpa  dies."  Grandpa,  indeed, 
may  sometimes  have  heard  him  say  that ;  and  it  is  the 
saddest,  most  hopeless  thing  in  life  for  elderly  people 
to  come  to  see  that  the  younger  generation  is  only 
waiting  for  them  to  die.  If  Grandpa  Edwards  had 
been  very  infirm,  he  might  not  have  cared  greatly ;  but, 
as  I  have  said,  at  sixty-seven  he  was  still  hale  and, 
except  for  a  little  rheumatism,  apparently  well. 

Tom  came  home  from  the  Corners  that  night  with- 
out having  learned  anything  of  Grandpa  Edwards's 
whereabouts.  In  the  course  of  the  evening  his  dis- 
appearance became  known  throughout  the  vicinity. 
The  first  conjectures  were  that  he  had  set  off  on  a  visit 
somewhere  and  would  soon  return.  Paying  visits  was 
not  much  after  his  manner  of  life;  yet  his  family  half 
believed  that  he  had  gone  off  to  cheer  himself  up  a  bit. 
Jotham  and  his  wife,  and  Catherine,  too,  now  remem- 
bered that  he  had  been  unusually  silent  for  a  week. 
A  search  of  the  room  he  occupied  showed  that  he  had 
gone  away  wearing  his  every-day  clothes.  I  remember 
that  the  old  Squire  and  grandmother  Ruth  looked 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     131 

grave  but  said  very  little.  Grandpa  Edwards  was  not 
the  kind  of  man  to  get  lost.  Of  course  he  might  have 
had  a  fall  while  tramping  about  and  injured  himself 
seriously  or  even  fatally ;  but  neither  was  that  likely. 

For  several  days,  therefore,  his  family  and  his 
neighbors  waited  for  him  to  return  of  his  own  accord. 
But  when  a  week  or  more  passed  and  he  did  not  come 
anxiety  deepened;  and  his  son  and  the  neighbors  be- 
stirred themselves  to  make  wider  inquiries.  Tardily, 
at  last,  a  considerable  party  searched  the  woods  and 
the  lake  shores ;  and  finally  as  many  as  fifty  persons 
turned  out  and  spent  a  day  and  a  night  looking  for 
him. 

"  They  will  not  find  him,"  the  old  Squire  remarked 
with  a  kind  of  sad  certainty;  and  he  did  not  join  the 
searchers  himself  or  encourage  us  boys  to  do  so.  I 
think  that  both  he  and  grandmother  Ruth  partly 
feared  that,  as  the  old  lady  quaintly  expressed  it, 
"Jonathan  had  been  left  to  take  his  own  life,"  in  a 
fit  of  despondency. 

The  disappearance  was  so  mysterious,  indeed,  and 
some  people  thought  so  suspicious,  that  the  town 
authorities  took  it  up.  The  selectmen  came  to  the  Ed- 
wards farm  and  made  careful  inquiries  into  all  the 
circumstances  in  order  to  make  sure  there  had  been 
nothing  like  wrongdoing.  There  was  not,  however, 
the  least  circumstance  to  indicate  anything  of  that 
kind.  Grandfather  Jonathan  had  walked  away  no  one 
knew  where ;  Jotham  and  his  wife  knew  no  more  than 
their  neighbors.  They  did  not  know  what  to  think. 
Perhaps  they  feared  they  had  not  treated  their  father 
well.  They  said  little,  but  Catherine  and  Tom  talked 
of  it  in  all  innocence.  Supposed  clues  were  reported, 
but  they  led  to  nothing  and  were  soon  abandoned.  The 
baffling  mystery  of  it  remained  and  throughout  that 
entire  season  cast  its  shadow  on  the  community.  It 
passed  from  the  minds  of  us  young  people  much  sooner 
than  from  the  minds  of  our  elders.  In  the  rush  of  life 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

we  largely  ceased  to  think  of  it ;  but  I  am  sure  it  was 
often  in  the  thoughts  of  the  old  Squire  and  grand- 
mother. With  them  months  and  even  years  made  little 
difference  in  their  sense  of  loss,  for  no  tidings  came — 
none  at  least  that  were  ever  made  public;  but  thereby 
hangs  the  strangest  part  of  this  story. 

The  old  Squire,  as  I  have  often  said,  was  a  lumber- 
man as  well  as  a  farmer.  For  a  number  of  years  he 
was  in  company  with  a  Canadian  at  Three  Rivers  in 
the  Province  of  Quebec,  and  had  lumber  camps  on 
the  St.  Maurice  River  as  well  as  nearer  home  in  Maine. 
After  the  age  of  seventy-three  he  gave  up  active  par- 
ticipation in  the  Quebec  branch  of  the  business,  but 
still  retained  an  interest  in  it ;  and  this  went  on  for  ten 
years  or  more.  The  former  partner  in  Canada  then 
died,  and  the  business  had  to  be  wound  up. 

Long  before  that  time  Theodora,  Halstead  and 
finally  Ellen  had  left  home  and  gone  out  into  the  world 
for  themselves,  and  as  the  old  Squire  was  now  past 
eighty  we  did  not  quite  like  to  have  him  journey  to 
Canada.  He  was  still  alert,  but  after  an  attack  of 
rheumatic  fever  in  the  winter  of  1869  his  heart  had 
disclosed  slight  defects;  it  was  safer  for  him  not  to 
exert  himself  so  vigorously  as  formerly;  and  as  the 
partnership  had  to  be  terminated  legally  he  gave  me 
the  power  of  attorney  to  go  to  Three  Rivers  and  act 
for  him. 

I  was  at  a  sawmill  fifteen  miles  out  of  Three  Rivers 
for  a  week  or  more ;  but  the  day  I  left  I  came  back  to 
that  place  on  a  buckboard  driven  by  a  French  habitant 
of  the  locality.  On  our  way  we  passed  a  little  stumpy 
clearing  where  there  was  a  small,  new,  very  tidy  house, 
neatly  shingled  and  clapboarded,  with  plots  of  bright 
asters  and  marigolds  about  the  door.  Adjoining  was 
an  equally  tidy  barn,  and  in  front  one  of  the  best-kept, 
most  luxuriant  gardens  I  had  ever  seen  in  Canada. 
Farther  away  was  an  acre  of  ripening  oats  and  another 
of  potatoes.  A  Jersey  cow  with  her  tinkling  bell  was 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    133 

feeding  at  the  borders  of  the  clearing.  Such  evidences 
of  care  and  thrift  were  so  unusual  in  that  northerly 
region  that  I  spoke  of  it  to  my  driver. 

"  Ah,  heem  ole  Yarnkee  man,"  the  habitant  said. 
"  Heem  work  all  time." 

As  if  in  confirmation  of  this  remark  an  aged  man, 
hearing  our  wheels,  rose  suddenly  in  the  garden  where 
he  was  weeding,  with  his  face  toward  us.  Something 
strangely  familiar  in  his  looks  at  once  riveted  my  at- 
tention. I  bade  the  driver  stop  and,  jumping  out, 
climbed  the  log  fence  inclosing  the  garden  and  ap- 
proached the  old  man. 

"  Isn't  your  name  Edwards — Jonathan  Edwards?  " 
I  exclaimed. 

He  stood  for  some  moments  regarding  me  without 
speaking.  "  Wai,  they  don't  call  me  that  here,"  he  said 
at  last,  still  regarding  me  fixedly. 

I  told  him  then  who  I  was  and  how  I  had  come  to  be 
there.  I  was  not  absolutely  certain  that  it  was  Grandpa 
Edwards,  yet  I  felt  pretty  sure.  His  hair  was  a  little 
whiter  and  his  face  somewhat  more  wrinkled;  yet  he 
had  changed  surprisingly  little.  His  hearing,  too,  did 
not  appear  to  be  much  impaired,  and  he  was  doing  a 
pretty  good  job  of  weeding  without  glasses. 

I  could  see  that  he  was  in  doubt  about  admitting  his 
identity  to  me.  "It  is  only  by  accident  I  saw  you,"  I 
said.  "  I  did  not  come  to  find  you." 

Still  he  did  not  speak  and  seemed  disinclined  to  do 
so,  or  to  admit  anything  about  himself.  I  was  sorry 
that  I  had  stopped  to  accost  him,  but  now  that  I  had 
done  so  I  went  on  quite  as  a  matter  of  course  to  give 
him  tidings  of  the  old  Squire  and  of  grandmother 
Ruth.  "  They  are  both  living  and  well ;  they  speak  of 
you  at  times,"  I  said.  "  Your  disappearance  grieved 
them.  I  don't  think  they  ever  blamed  you." 

His  face  worked  strangely;  his  hands,  grasping  the 
hoe  handle,  shook ;  but  still  he  said  nothing. 

"  Have  you  ever  had  word  from  your  folks  at  the 


134    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

old  farm?"  I  asked  him  at  length.  "  Have  you  had 
any  news  of  them  at  all  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  I  then  informed  him  that  his 
son  Jotham  had  died  four  years  before ;  that  Tom  had 
gone  abroad  as  an  engineer ;  that  Catherine  was  living 
at  home,  managing  the  old  place  and  doing  it  well ;  that 
she  had  paid  off  the  mortgage  and  was  prospering. 

He  listened  in  silence ;  but  his  face  worked  painfully 
at  times. 

As  I  was  speaking  an  elderly  woman  came  to  the 
door  of  the  house  and  stood  looking  toward  us. 

"  That  is  my  wife,"  he  said,  noticing  that  I  saw  her. 
"  She  is  a  good  woman.  She  takes  good  care  of 
me." 

I  felt  that  it  would  be  unkind  to  press  him  further 
and  turned  to  go. 

"  Would  you  like  to  send  any  word  to  your  folks  or 
to  grandmother  and  the  old  Squire  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Better  not,"  said  he  with  a  kind  of  solemn  sullen- 
ness.  "  I  am  out  of  all  that.  I'm  the  same's  dead." 

I  could  see  that  he  wished  it  so.  He  had  not  really 
and  in  so  many  words  acknowledged  his  identity ;  but 
when  I  turned  to  go  he  followed  me  to  the  log  fence 
round  the  garden  and  as  I  got  over  grasped  my  hand 
and  held  on  for  the  longest  time !  I  thought  he  would 
never  let  go.  His  hand  felt  rather  cold.  I  suppose  the 
sight  of  me  and  the  home  speech  brought  his  early  life 
vividly  back  to  him.  He  swallowed  hard  several  times 
without  speaking,  and  again  I  saw  his  wrinkled  face 
working.  He  let  go  at  last,  went  heavily  back  and 
picked  up  his  hoe;  and  as  we  drove  on  I  saw  him 
hoeing  stolidly. 

The  driver  said  that  he  had  cleared  up  the  little  farm 
and  built  the  log  house  and  barn  all  by  his  own  labor. 
For  five  years  he  had  lived  alone,  but  later  he  had 
married  the  widow  of  a  Scotch  immigrant.  I  noticed 
that  this  French-Canadian  driver  called  him  "  M'sieur 
Andrews."  It  would  seem  that  he  had  changed  his 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    135 

name  and  begun  anew  in  the  world — or  had  tried  to. 
How  far  he  had  succeeded  I  am  unable  to  say. 

I  could  not  help  feeling  puzzled  as  well  as  depressed. 
The  proper  course  under  such  circumstances  is  not 
wholly  clear.  Had  his  former  friends  a  right  to  know 
what  I  had  discovered?  Right  or  wrong,  what  I  de- 
cided on  was  to  say  nothing  so  long  as  the  old  man 
lived.  Three  years  afterwards  I  wrote  to  a  person 
whose  acquaintance  I  had  made  at  Three  Rivers,  ask- 
ing him  whether  an  old  American,  residing  at  a  place 
I  described,  were  still  living,  and  received  a  reply  say- 
ing that  he  was  and  apparently  in  good  health.  But 
two  years  later  this  same  Canadian  acquaintance,  re- 
membering my  inquiry,  wrote  to  say  that  the  old  man 
I  had  once  asked  about  had  just  died,  but  that  his 
widow  was  still  living  at  their  little  farm  and  getting 
along  as  well  as  could  be  expected. 

Then  one  day  as  the  old  Squire  and  I  were  driving 
home  from  a  grange  meeting  I  told  him  what  I  had 
learned  five  years  before  concerning  the  fate  of  his  old 
friend.  It  was  news  to  him,  and  yet  he  did  not  appear 
to  be  wholly  surprised. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,  whether  I  have  done  right  or 
not,  keeping  this  from  you  so  long,"  I  said  after  a 
moment  of  silence. 

"  I  think  you  did  perfectly  right,"  the  old  Squire 
said  after  a  pause.  "  You  did  what  I  myself,  I  am  sure, 
would  have  done  under  the  circumstances." 

"  Shall  you  tell  grandmother  Ruth?  "  I  asked. 

The  old  Squire  considered  it  for  several  moments 
before  he  ventured  to  speak  again.  At  last  he  lifted 
his  head. 

"  On  the  whole  I  think  it  will  be  better  if  we  do 
not,"  he  replied.  "  It  will  give  her  a  great  shock, 
particularly  Jonathan's  second  marriage  up  there  in 
Canada.  His  disappearance  has  now  largely  faded 
from  her  mind.  It  is  best  so. 

"  Not  that  I  justify  it,"  he  continued.    "  I  think 


136    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

really  that  he  did  a  shocking  thing.  But  I  understand 
it  and  overlook  it  in  him.  He  bore  his  life  there  with 
Jotham  just  as  long  as  he  could.  Jock  had  that  kind 
of  temperament.  After  Anice  died  there  was  nothing 
to  keep  him  there. 

"  The  fault  was  not  all  with  Jotham,"  the  old  Squire 
continued  reflectively.  "  Jotham  was  just  what  he  was, 
hasty,  willful  and  a  poor  head  for  management.  No, 
the  real  fault  was  in  the  mistake  in  giving  up  the  farm 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  property  to  Jotham  when  he 
came  home  to  live.  Jonathan  should  have  kept  his 
farm  in  his  own  hands  and  managed  it  himself  as  long 
as  he  was  well  and  retained  his  faculties.  True, 
Jotham  was  an  only  child  and  very  likely  would  have 
left  home  if  he  couldn't  have  had  his  own  way;  but 
that  would  have  been  better,  a  thousand  times  better, 
than  all  the  unhappiness  that  followed. 

"  No/'  the  old  Squire  said  again  with  conviction,  "  I 
don't  much  believe  in  elderly  people's  deeding  away 
their  farms  or  other  businesses  to  their  sons  as  long  as 
they  are  able  to  manage  them  for  themselves.  It  is  a 
very  bad  method  and  has  led  to  a  world  of  trouble." 

The  old  gentleman  stopped  suddenly  and  glanced  at 
me. 

"  My  boy,  I  quite  forgot  that  you  are  still  living  at 
home  with  me  and  perhaps  are  beginning  to  think  that 
it  is  time  you  had  a  deed  of  the  old  farm,"  he  said  in  an 
apologetic  voice. 

"  No,  sir ! "  I  exclaimed  vehemently,  for  I  had 
learned  my  lesson  from  what  I  had  seen  up  in  Canada. 
"  You  keep  your  property  in  your  own  hands  as  long 
as  you  live.  If  you  ever  see  symptoms  in  me  of  want- 
ing to  play  the  Jotham,  I  hope  that  you  will  put  me 
outside  the  house  door  and  shut  it  on  me !  " 

The  old  Squire  laughed  and  patted  my  shoulder  af- 
fectionately. 

"  Well,  I'm  eighty-three  now,  you  know,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  It  can  hardly  be  such  a  very  great  while." 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    137 

I  shook  my  head  by  way  of  protest,  for  the  thought 
was  an  exceedingly  unpleasant  one. 

However,  the  old  gentleman  only  laughed  again. 

"  No,  it  can  hardly  be  such  a  very  great  while,"  he 
repeated. 

But  he  lived  to  be  ninety-eight,  and  I  can  truly  say 
that  those  last  years  with  him  at  the  old  farm,  going 
about  or  driving  round  together,  were  the  happiest  of 
my  life. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

OUR    FOURTH    OF   JULY   AT   THE   DEN" 

FARM  work  as  usual  occupied  us  quite  closely  dur- 
ing May  and  June  that  year;  and  ere  long  we 
began  to  think  of  what  we  would  do  on  the 
approaching  Fourth  of  July.  So  far  as  we  could  hear, 
no  public  celebration  was  being  planned  either  at  the 
village  in  our  own  town,  or  in  any  of  the  towns  im- 
mediately adjoining.  Apparently  we  would  have  to 
organize  our  own  celebration,  if  we  had  one ;  and  after 
talking  the  matter  over  with  the  other  young  folks  of 
the  school  district,  we  decided  to  celebrate  the  day  by 
making  a  picnic  excursion  to  the  "  Den/'  and  carrying 
out  a  long  contemplated  plan  for  exploring  it. 

The  Den  was  a  pokerish  cavern  near  Overset  Pond, 
nine  or  ten  miles  to  the  northeast  of  the  old  Squire's 
place,  about  which  clung  many  legends. 

In  the  spring  of  1839  a  large  female  panther  is  said 
to  have  been  trapped  there,  and  an  end  made  of  her 
young  family.  Several  bears,  too,  had  been  surprised 
inside  the  Den,  for  the  place  presented  great  attrac- 
tions as  a  secure  retreat  from  winter  cold.  But  the 
story  that  most  interested  us  was  a  tradition  that  some- 
where in  the  recesses  of  the  cave  the  notorious  Andros- 
coggin  Indian  Adwanko  had  hidden  a  bag  of  silver 
money  that  he  had  received  from  the  French  for  the 
scalps  of  white  settlers. 

The  entrance  to  the  cave  fronts  the  pond  near  the 
foot  of  a  precipitous  mountain,  called  the  Fall-off.  A 
wilder  locality,  or  one  of  more  sinister  aspect,  can 
hardly  be  imagined.  The  cave  is  not  spacious  within ; 
it  is  merely  a  dark  hole  among  great  granite  rocks.  By 

138 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    139 

means  of  a  lantern  or  torch  you  can  penetrate  to  a 
distance  of  seventy  feet  or  more. 

One  day  when  three  of  us  boys  had  gone  to  Overset 
Pond  to  fish  for  trout  we  plucked  up  our  courage  and 
crawled  into  it.  We  crept  along  for  what  seemed  to 
us  a  great  distance  till  we  found  the  passage  obstructed 
by  a  rock  that  had  apparently  fallen  from  overhead. 
We  could  move  the  stone  a  little,  but  we  did  not  dare 
to  tamper  with  it  much,  for  fear  that  other  stones  from 
above  would  fall.  We  believed  that  Adwanko's  bag  of 
silver  was  surely  in  some  recess  beyond  the  rock  and 
at  once  began  to  lay  plans  for  blasting  out  the  stone 
with  powder.  By  using  a  long  fuse,  the  person  that 
fired  the  charge  would  have  time  to  get  out  before  the 
explosion. 

Our  party  drove  there  in  five  double-seated  wagons 
as  far  as  Moose- Yard  Brook,  where  we  left  the  teams 
and  walked  the  remaining  two  miles  through  the  woods 
to  Overset  Pond.  Besides  five  of  us  from  the  old 
Squire's,  there  were  our  two  young  neighbors,  Thomas 
and  Catherine  Edwards,  Willis  Murch  and  his  older 
brother,  Ben,  the  two  Darnley  boys,  Newman  and 
Rufus,  their  sister,  Adriana,  and  ten  or  twelve  other 
young  people. 

Besides  luncheon  baskets  and  materials  to  make 
lemonade,  we  had  taken  along  axes,  two  crowbars,  two 
lanterns,  four  pounds  of  blasting  powder  and  three 
feet  of  -safety  fuse.  My  cousin  Addison  had  also 
brought  a  hammer,  drill  and  "  spoon."  The  girls  were 
chiefly  interested  in  the  picnic;  but  we  boys  were  re- 
solved to  see  what  was  in  the  depths  of  the  cave,  and 
immediately  on  reaching  the  place  several  of  us  lighted 
the  lanterns  and  went  in. 

At  no  place  could  we  stand  upright.  Apparently 
some  animal  had  wintered  there,  for  the  interior  had  a 
rank  odor ;  but  we  crawled  on  over  rocks  until  we  came 
to  the  obstructing  stone  sixty  or  seventy  feet  from  the 
entrance. 


140    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

We  had  planned  to  drill  a  hole  in  the  rock,  blast  it 
into  pieces,  and  thus  clear  a  passage  to  what  lay  be- 
yond it.  On  closer  inspection,  however,  we  found  that 
it  was  almost  impossible  to  set  the  drill  and  deal  blows 
with  the  hammer.  But  the  stone  rested  on  another 
rock,  and  we  believed  that  we  could  push  powder  in  be- 
neath it  and  so  get  an  upward  blast  that  would  heave 
the  stone  either  forward  or  backward,  or  perhaps  even 
break  it  in  halves.  We  therefore  set  to  work,  thrusting 
the  powder  far  under  the  stone  with  a  blunt  stick,  until 
we  had  a  charge  of  about  four  pounds.  When  we  had 
connected  the  fuse  we  heaped  sand  about  the  base  of 
the  stone,  to  confine  the  powder. 

The  blast  was  finally  ready;  and  then  the  question 
who  should  fire  it  arose.  The  three  feet  of  fuse  would, 
we  believed,  give  two  full  minutes  for  whoever  lighted 
it  to  get  out  of  the  Den;  but  fuse  sometimes  burns 
faster  than  is  expected,  and  the  safety  fuse  made  in 
those  days  was  not  so  uniform  in  quality  as  that  of 
present  times.  At  first  no  one  seemed  greatly  to  desire 
the  honor  of  touching  it  off.  The  boys  stood  and 
joked  one  another  about  it,  while  the  girls  looked  on 
from  a  safe  distance. 

"  I  shan't  feel  offended  if  any  one  gets  ahead  of  me," 
Addison  remarked  carelessly. 

"  I'd  just  as  soon  have  some  one  else  do  it,"  Ben 
said,  smiling. 

I  had  no  idea  of  claiming  the  honor  myself.  Finally, 
after  more  bantering,  Rufus  Darnley  cried,  "  Who's 
afraid?  I'll  light  it.  Two  minutes  is  time  enough  to 
get  out." 

Rufus  was  not  largely  endowed  with  mother  wit,  or 
prudence.  His  brother  Newman  and  his  sister  Adriana 
did  not  like  the  idea  of  his  setting  off  the  blast — in 
fact,  none  of  us  did ;  but  Rufus  wanted  to  show  off  a 
bit,  and  he  insisted  upon  going  in.  Thereupon  Ben, 
the  oldest  of  the  young  fellows  present,  said  quietly 
that  he  would  go  in  with  Rufus  and  light  the  fuse  him- 
self while  Rufus  held  the  lantern. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    141 

"  I'll  shout  when  I  touch  the  match  to  the  fuse,"  he 
said,  "  so  that  you  can  get  away  from  the  mouth  of 
the  cave." 

They  crept  in,  and  the  rest  of  us  stood  round,  listen- 
ing for  the  signal.  Several  minutes  passed,  and  we 
wondered  what  could  be  taking  them  so  long.  At  last 
there  came  a  muffled  shout,  and  all  of  us,  retreating 
twenty  or  thirty  yards,  watched  for  Ben  and  Rufus  to 
emerge.  Some  of  us  were  counting  off  the  seconds. 
We  could  hear  Ben  and  Rufus  coming,  climbing  over 
the  rocks.  Then  suddenly  there  was  an  outcry  and  the 
sound  of  tinkling  glass.  At  the  same  instant  Ben 
emerged,  but  immediately  turned  and  went  back  into 
the  cave. 

"  Hurry,  Rufe!  "  we  heard  him  call  out.  "  What's 
the  matter?  Hurry,  or  it  will  go  off!  " 

Consternation  fell  on  us,  and  some  of  us  started  for 
the  mouth  of  the  cave;  but  before  we  had  gone  more 
than  five  paces  Ben  sprang  forth.  He  had  not  dared 
to  remain  an  instant  longer — and,  indeed,  he  was 
scarcely  outside  when  the  explosion  came.  It  sounded 
like  a  heavy  jolt  deep  inside  the  mountain. 

To  our  horror  a  huge  slab  of  rock,  thirty  or  forty 
feet  up  the  side  of  the  Fall-off,  started  to  slide  with  a 
great  crunching  and  grinding;  then,  gathering  mo- 
mentum, it  plunged  down  between  us  and  the  mouth  of 
the  cave  and  completely  shut  the  opening  from  view. 
Powder  smoke  floated  up  from  behind  the  slab. 

There  was  something  so  terrible  in  the  suddenness 
of  the  catastrophe  that  the  whole  party  seemed  crazed. 
The  boys,  shouting  wildly,  swarmed  about  the  fallen 
rock;  the  girls  ran  round,  imploring  us  to  get  Rufus 
out.  Rufus's  sister  Adriana,  beside  herself  with  terror, 
was  screaming;  and  we  could  hardly  keep  Newman 
Darnley  from  attacking  Ben  Murch,  who,  he  declared, 
should  have  brought  Rufus  out! 

At  first  we  were  afraid  that  the  explosion  had  killed 
Rufus;  but  almost  immediately  we  heard  muffled  cries 


142    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

for  help  from  the  cave.  He  was  still  alive,  but  we  had 
no  way  of  knowing  how  badly  he  was  hurt.  Adriana 
fairly  flew  from  one  to  another,  beseeching  us  to  save 
him. 

"  He's  dying !  He's  under  the  rocks ! "  she  screamed. 
"  Oh,  why  don't  you  get  him  out?  " 

With  grave  faces  Willis,  Ben,  Addison  and  Thomas 
peered  round  the  fallen  rock  and  cast  about  for  some 
means  of  moving  it. 

"  We  must  pry  it  away ! "  Thomas  exclaimed. 
"  Let's  get  a  big  pry !  " 

"  We  can't  move  that  rock!  "  Ben  declared.  "  We 
shall  have  to  drill  it  and  blast  it." 

But  we  had  used  all  the  powder  and  fuse,  and  it 
would  take  several  hours  to  get  more.  Ben  insisted, 
however,  on  sending  Alfred  Batchelder  for  the  powder, 
and  then,  seizing  the  hammer  and  drill,  he  began  to 
drill  a  hole  in  the  side  of  the  rock. 

Thomas,  however,  still  believed  that  we  could  move 
the  rock  by  throwing  our  united  weight  on  a  long  pry ; 
and  many  of  the  boys  agreed  with  him.  We  felled  a 
spruce  tree  seven  inches  in  diameter,  trimmed  it  and 
cut  a  pry  twenty  feet  long  from  it.  Carrying  it  to  the 
rock,  we  set  a  stone  for  a  fulcrum,  and  then  threw  our 
weight  repeatedly  on  the  long  end.  The  rock,  which 
must  have  Aveighed  ten  tons  or  more,  scarcely  stirred. 
Ben  laughed  at  us  scornfully  and  went  on  drilling. 

All  the  while  Adriana  stood  weeping,  and  the  other 
girls  were  shedding  tears  in  sympathy.  Rufus's  dis- 
tressed cries  came  to  our  ears,  entreating  us  to  help 
him  and  saying  something  that  we  could  not  under- 
stand about  his  leg. 

As  Addison  stood  racking  his  brain  for  some  quicker 
way  of  moving  the  rock  he  remembered  a  contrivance, 
called  a  "  giant  purchase,"  that  he  had  heard  of  lum- 
bermen's using  to  break  jams  of  logs  on  the  Andros- 
coggin  River.  He  had  never  seen  one  and  had  only  the 
vaguest  idea  how  it  worked.  All  he  knew  was  that  it 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    145 

consisted  of  an  immense  lever,  forty  feet  long,  laid  on 
a  log  support  and  hauled  laterally  to  and  fro  by  horses. 
He  knew  that  you  could  thus  get  a  titanic  application 
of  power,  for  if  the  long  arm  of  the  lever  were  forty 
feet  long  and  the  short  arm  four  feet,  the  strength  of 
three  horses  pulling  on  the  long  arm  would  be  in- 
creased tenfold — that  is,  the  power  of  thirty  horses 
would  be  applied  against  the  object  to  be  moved. 

Addison  explained  his  plan  to  the  rest  of  us.  He 
sent  Thomas  and  me  to  lead  several  of  our  horses  up 
through  the  woods  to  the  pond.  We  ran  all  the  way ; 
and  we  took  the  whippletrees  off  the  double  wagons, 
and  brought  all  the  spare  rope  halters.  Within  an 
hour  we  were  back  there  with  four  of  the  strongest 
horses. 

Meanwhile  the  others  had  been  busy ;  even  Ben  had 
been  persuaded  to  drop  his  drilling  and  to  help  the 
other  boys  cut  the  great  lever — a  straight  spruce  tree 
forty  or  forty-five  feet  tall.  The  girls,  too,  had 
worked ;  they  had  even  helped  us  drag  the  two  spruce 
logs  for  the  lever  to  slide  on.  In  fact,  every  one  had 
worked  with  might  and  main  in  a  kind  of  breathless 
anxiety,  for  Rufus's  very  life  seemed  to  be  hanging  on 
the  success  of  our  exertions. 

A  few  feet  to  the  left  of  the  fallen  rock  was  another 
boulder  that  served  admirably  for  a  fulcrum,  and  be- 
fore long  we  had  the  big  lever  in  place  with  the  end  of 
the  short  arm  bearing  against  the  fallen  slab.  When 
we  had  attached  the  horses  to  the  farther  end,  Addison 
gave  the  word  to  start.  As  the  horses  gathered  them- 
selves for  the  pull  we  watched  anxiously.  The  great 
log  lever,  which  was  more  than  a  foot  in  diameter, 
bent  visibly  as  they  lunged  forward. 

Every  eye  was  now  on  the  rock,  and  when  it  moved, 
— for  move  it  did, — such  a  cry  of  joy  rose  as  the 
shores  of  that  little  pond  had  never  echoed  before! 
The  great  slab  ground  heavily  against  the  other  rocks, 
but  moved  for  three  or  four  feet,  exposing  in  part  the 


144    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

mouth  of  the  cave — the  same  little  dark  chink  that 
affords  entrance  to  the  Den  to-day. 

Other  boulders  prevented  the  rock  from  moving 
farther,  and,  although  the  horses  surged  at  the  lever, 
and  we  boys  added  our  strength,  the  slab  stuck  fast; 
but  an  aperture  twenty  inches  wide  had  been  un- 
covered, wide  enough  to  enable  any  one  to  enter  the 
Den. 

Ben,  Willis  and  Edgar  Wilbur  crept  in,  followed  by 
Thomas  with  a  lantern ;  and  after  a  time  they  brought 
Rufus  out.  We  learned  then  that  in  his  haste  after  the 
fuse  was  lighted  he  had  fallen  over  one  of  the  large 
rocks  and,  striking  his  leg  on  another  stone,  had 
broken  the  bone  above  the  knee.  He  suffered  not  a 
little  when  the  boys  were  drawing  him  out  at  the 
narrow  chink  beside  the  rock;  but  he  was  alive,  and 
that  was  a  matter  for  thankfulness. 

Thomas  went  back  to  get  the  lantern  that  Rufus  had 
dropped.  It  had  fallen  into  a  crevice  between  two 
large  rocks,  and  while  searching  for  it  Thomas  found 
another  lantern  there,  of  antique  pattern.  It  was  made 
of  tin  and  was  perforated  with  holes  to  emit  the  light ; 
it  seemed  very  old.  Underneath  where  it  lay  Thomas 
also  discovered  a  man's  waistcoat,  caked  and  sodden  by 
the  damp.  In  one  pocket  was  a  pipe,  a  rusted  jack- 
knife  and  what  had  once  been  a  piece  of  tobacco.  In 
the  other  pocket  were  sixteen  large,  old,  red  copper 
cents,  one  of  which  was  a  "  boobyhead  "  cent. 

We  never  discovered  to  whom  that  treasure-trove 
belonged.  It  could  hardly  have  been  Adwanko's,  for 
one  of  the  copper  cents  bore  the  date  of  1830.  Per- 
haps the  owner  of  it  had  been  searching  for  Adwanko's 
money;  but  why  he  left  his  lantern  and  waistcoat  be- 
hind him  remains  a  mystery.  Our  chief  care  was  now 
for  Rufus.  We  made  a  litter  of  poles  and  spruce 
boughs,  and  as  gently  as  we  could  carried  the  sufferer 
through  the  woods  down  to  the  wagons,  and  slowly 
drove  him  home.  Seven  or  eight  weeks  passed  before 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     145 

he  was  able  to  walk  again,  even  with  the  aid  of  a 
crutch. 

Our  plan  of  exploring  the  Den  had  been  wholly 
overshadowed.  We  even  forgot  the  luncheon  baskets ; 
and  no  one  thought  of  ascertaining  what  the  blast  had 
accomplished.  When  we  went  up  to  the  cave  some 
months  later  we  found  that  the  blast  had  done  very 
little;  it  had  moved  the  rock  slightly,  but  not  enough 
to  open  the  passage;  and  so  it  remains  to  this  day. 
Old  Adwanko's  scalp  money  is  still  there — if  it  ever 
was  there;  but  it  is  my  surmise  that  the  cruel  redskin 
is  much  more  likely  to  have  spent  his  blood  money  for 
rum  than  to  have  left  it  behind  him  in  the  Den. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 
JIM  DOANE'S  BANK  BOOK 

DURING  the  month  of  June  that  summer  there 
was  a  very  ambiguous  affair  at  our  old  place. 
Nowadays,  if  you  lose  your  savings-bank  book 
all  you  have  to  do  is  to  notify  the  bank  to  stop  payment 
on  it.  In  many  other  ways,  too,  depositors  are  now 
safeguarded  from  loss.  Forty  years  ago,  however, 
when  savings  banks  were  newer  and  more  autocratic, 
it  was  different.  The  bank  book  was  then  something 
tremendously  important,  or  at  least  depositors  thought 
so. 

When  the  savings  bank  at  the  village,  six  miles  from 
the  old  home  farm  in  Maine,  first  opened  for  business, 
Mr.  Burns,  the  treasurer,  gave  each  new  depositor  a 
sharp  lecture.  He  was  a  large  man  with  a  heavy  black 
beard;  as  he  handed  the  new  bank  book  to  the  de- 
positor, he  would  say  in  a  dictatorial  tone : 

"  Now  here  is  your  bank  book."  What  emphasis  he 
put  on  those  words !  "  It  shows  you  what  you  have  at 
the  bank.  Don't  fold  it.  Don't  crumple  it.  Don't  get 
it  dirty.  But  above  all  things  don't  lose  it,  or  let  it  be 
stolen  from  you.  If  you  do,  you  may  lose  your  entire 
deposit.  We  cannot  remember  you  all.  Whoever 
brings  your  book  here  may  draw  out  your  money.  So 
put  this  book  in  a  safe  place,  and  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  it. 
Remember  every  word  I  have  told  you,  or  we  will  not 
be  responsible." 

The  old  Squire  encouraged  us  to  have  a  nest  egg  at 
the  bank,  and  by  the  end  of  the  year  there  were  seven 
bank  books  at  the  farm,  all  carefully  put  away  under 
lock  and  key,  in  fact  there  were  nine,  counting  the  two 

146 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    147 

that  belonged  to  our  hired  men,  Asa  and  Jim  Doane. 
Acting  on  the  old  Squire's  exhortation  to  practise 
thrift,  they  vowed  that  they  would  lay  up  a  hundred 
dollars  a  year  from  their  wages.  The  Doanes  had 
worked  for  us  for  three  or  four  years.  Asa  was  a 
sturdy  fellow  of  good  habits;  but  Jim,  his  younger 
brother,  had  a  besetting  sin.  About  once  a  month, 
sometimes  oftener,  he  wanted  a  play  day;  we  always 
knew  that  he  would  come  home  from  it  drunk,  and  that 
we  should  have  to  put  him  away  in  some  sequestered 
place  and  give  him  a  day  in  which  to  recover. 

For  two  or  three  days  afterwards  Jim  would  be  the 
meekest,  saddest,  most  shamefaced  of  human  beings. 
At  table  he  would  scarcely  look  up ;  and  there  is  not  the 
least  doubt  that  his  grief  and  shame  were  genuine. 
Yet  as  surely  as  the  months  passed  the  same  feverish 
restlessness  would  again  show  itself  in  him. 

We  came  to  recognize  Jim's  symptoms  only  too  well, 
and  knew,  when  we  saw  them,  that  he  would  soon  have 
to  have  another  play  day.  In  fact,  if  the  old  Squire 
refused  to  let  him  off  on  such  occasions,  Jim  would  get 
more  and  more  restless  and  two  or  three  nights  after- 
wards would  steal  away  surreptitiously. 

"  Jim's  a  fool !  "  his  brother,  Asa,  often  said  im- 
patiently. "  He  isn't  fit  to  be  round  here." 

But  the  Squire  steadily  refused  to  turn  Jim  off. 
Many  a  time  the  old  gentleman  sat  up  half  the  night 
with  the  returned  and  noisy  prodigal.  A  word  from 
the  Squire  would  calm  Jim  for  the  time  and  would 
occasionally  call  forth  a  burst  of  repentant  tears.  Jim's 
case,  indeed,  was  one  of  the  causes  that  led  us  at  the 
old  farm  so  bitterly  to  hate  intoxicants. 

That,  however,  is  the  dark  side  of  Jim's  infirmity; 
one  of  its  more  amusing  sides  was  his  bank  book. 
When  Jim  was  himself,  as  we  used  to  say  of  him,  he 
wanted  to  do  well  and  to  thrive  like  Asa,  and  he  asked 
the  old  Squire  to  hold  back  ten  dollars  from  his  wages 
every  month  and  to  deposit  it  for  him  in  the  new  sav- 


148    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

ings  bank.     Mindful  of  his  infirmity,  Jim  gave  his 
bank  book  to  grandmother  to  keep  for  him. 

"  Hide  it/'  he  used  to  say  to  her.  "  Even  if  I  come 
and  want  it,  don't  you  let  me  have  it." 

That  was  when  Jim  was  himself ;  but  when  he  had 
gone  for  a  playday,  he  came  rip-roariously  home,  time 
and  again,  and  demanded  his  book,  to  get  more  money 
for  drink.  The  scrimmages  that  grandmother  had 
with  him  about  that  book  would  have  been  highly 
ludicrous  if  a  vein  of  tragedy  had  not  run  underneath 
them. 

One  cause  of  Jim's  inconsistent  behavior  about  his 
bank  account  was  the  bad  company  he  fell  into  on  his 
playdays.  After  he  had  imbibed  somewhat,  those  boon 
companions  would  urge  him  to  go  home  and  get  his 
bank  book;  for  under  the  influence  of  drink  Jim  was  a 
noisy  talker  and  likely  to  boast  of  his  savings. 

None  of  us,  except  grandmother,  knew  where  Jim's 
bank  book  was,  and  after  one  memorable  experience 
with  him  the  old  lady  always  disappeared  when  she 
saw  him  drive  in.  The  second  time,  Jim  actually 
searched  the  house  for  his  book ;  but  grandmother  had 
taken  it  and  stolen  away  to  a  neighbor's  house.  Once 
or  twice  afterwards  Jim  came  and  searched  for  his 
book ;  and  I  remember  that  the  old  Squire  had  doubts 
whether  it  was  best  for  us  to  withhold  it  from  him. 
Grandmother,  however,  had  no  such  scruples. 

"  He  shan't  have  it !  Those  rum  sellers  shan't  get  it 
from  him !  "  she  exclaimed. 

When  he  had  recovered  from  the  effects  of  his  play- 
day  Jim  was  always  fervently  glad  that  he  had  not 
spent  his  savings. 

But  his  bad  habits  rapidly  grew  on  him,  and  we  fully 
expected  that  his  savings,  which,  thanks  to  grand- 
mother's resolute  efforts,  now  amounted  to  nearly  four 
hundred  dollars,  would  eventually  be  squandered  on 
drink. 

"  It's  no  use,"  Addison  often  said.    "  It  will  all  go 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    149 

that  way  in  the  end,  and  the  more  there  is  of  it  the 
worse  will  be  the  final  crash." 

Others  thought  so,  too — among  them  Miss  Wilma 
Emmons,  who  taught  the  district  school  that  summer. 
Miss  Emmons  was  tall,  slight  and  pale,  with  dark  hair 
and  large  light-blue  eyes.  She  would  have  been  very 
pretty  except  for  her  very  high,  narrow  forehead  that 
not  even  her  hair,  combed  low,  could  prevent  from 
being  noticeable.  She  made  you  feel  that  she  was 
constantly^  intent  on  something  that  worried  her. 

As  time  passed,  we  came  to  learn  the  cause  of  her 
anxiety.  She  had  two  brothers,  younger  than  herself, 
bright,  promising  boys  whom  she  was  trying  to  help 
through  college.  The  three  were  orphans,  without 
means;  and  Wilma  was  working  hard,  summer  and 
winter,  at  anything  and  everything  that  offered  profit, 
in  an  effort  to  give  those  boys  a  liberal  education ;  be- 
sides teaching  school,  she  went  round  the  countryside 
in  all  weathers  selling  books,  maps  and  sewing  ma- 
chines. Her  devotion  to  those  brothers  was  of  course 
splendid,  yet  I  now  think  that  Wilma,  temperamental 
and  overworked,  had  let  it  become  a  kind  of  mono- 
mania with  her. 

A  few  days  after  she  came  to  board  at  the  old 
Squire's — all  the  school-teachers  boarded  there — Addi- 
son  said  to  me  that  he  wondered  what  that  girl  had  on 
her  mind. 

As  the  summer  passed,  Wilma  Emmons  came  to 
know  our  affairs  at  the  old  farm  very  well,  and  of 
course  heard  about  Jim  and  his  bank  book.  Jim,  in 
fact,  had  taken  one  of  his  playdays  soon  after  she 
came;  and  grandmother  asked  Wilma  to  lock  the  book 
up  in  the  drawer  of  her  desk  at  the  schoolhouse  for  a 
few  days. 

It  was  quite  like  Jim  Doane's  impulsive  nature, 
already  somewhat  unbalanced  by  intoxicants,  to  be 
greatly  attracted  to  the  reserved  Miss  Emmons.  Out 
by  the  garden  gate  one  morning  he  rather  foolishly 


150    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

made  his  admiration  known  to  her.  Addison  and  I 
were  weeding  a  strawberry  bed  just  inside  the  fence 
and  could  not  avoid  overhearing  something  of  what 
passed. 

Astonished  and  a  little  indignant,  too,  perhaps,  Miss 
Emmons  told  Jim  that  a  young  man  of  his  habits  had 
no  right  to  address  himself  in  such  a  manner  to  any 
young  woman. 

"  But  I  can  reform !  "  Jim  said. 

"  Let  folks  see  that  you  have  done  so,  then,"  Miss 
Emmons  replied,  and  added  that  a  young  man  who 
could  not  be  trusted  with  his  own  bank  book  could 
hardly  be  depended  on  to  make  a  home. 

It  is  quite  likely  that  Jim  brooded  over  the  rebuff; 
he  was  surly  for  a  week  afterwards.  Then,  like  the 
weakling  that  he  had  become,  he  stole  away  for  an- 
other play  day;  and  again  grandmother,  with  Theo- 
dora's and  Miss  Emmons's  connivance,  hid  the  book, 
this  time  somewhere  in  the  wagon-house  cellar. 

Jim  did  not  come  home  to  demand  his  book,  how- 
ever ;  in  fact,  he  did  not  come  back  at  all.  Shame  per- 
haps restrained  him.  When  on  the  third  day  the  old 
Squire  drove  down  to  the  village  to  get  him,  he  found 
that  Jim  had  gone  to  Bangor  with  two  disreputable 
cronies. 

A  week  or  two  passed,  and  then  came  a  somewhat 
curt  letter  from  Jim,  asking  grandmother  to  send  his 
bank  book  to  him  at  Oldtown,  Maine.  The  letter  put 
grandmother  in  a  great  state  of  mind,  and  she  declared 
indignantly  that  she  would  not  send  it.  In  truth,  we 
were  all  certain  that  now  Jim  would  squander  his 
savings  in  the  worst  possible  way;  but  when  another 
letter  came,  again  demanding  the  book,  the  old  Squire 
decided  that  we  must  send  it. 

"  The  poor  fellow  needs  a  guardian,"  he  said.  "  But 
he  hasn't  one;  he  is  his  own  man  and  has  a  right  to  his 
property." 

With  hot  tears  of  resentment  grandmother,  accom- 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    151 

panied  by  Theodora,  went  to  the  wagon-house  cellar  to 
get  the  book.  After  some  minutes  they  returned,  ex- 
claiming that  they  could  not  find  it ! 

No  little  stir  ensued;  what  had  become  of  it?  For 
the  moment  Addison  and  I  actually  suspected  that 
grandmother  and  Theodora  had  hidden  the  book  again, 
in  order  to  avoid  sending  it;  but  a  few  words  with 
Theodora,  aside,  convinced  us  that  the  book  had  really 
disappeared  from  the  cellar. 

The  old  Squire  was  greatly  disturbed.  "  Ruth/'  he 
said  to  grandmother,  "  are  you  sure  you  have  not  put 
it  somewhere  else?  " 

Grandmother  declared  that  she  had  not.  None  the 
less,  they  searched  in  all  the  previous  hiding  places  of 
the  book  and  continued  looking  for  it  until  after  ten 
o'clock  that  night.  We  were  in  a  very  uncomfortable 
position. 

Long  after  we  had  gone  to  bed  Addison  and  I  lay 
awake,  talking  of  it  in  low  tones ;  we  tried  to  recollect 
everything  that  had  gone  on  at  home  since  the  book  was 
last  seen.  I  dropped  asleep  at  last,  and  probably  slept 
for  two  hours  or  more,  when  Addison  shook  me  gently. 

"  Sh !  "  he  whispered.  "  Don't  speak.  Some  one  is 
going  downstairs." 

Listening,  I  heard  a  stair  creak,  as  if  under  a  stealthy 
tread.  Addison  slipped  softly  out  of  bed,  and  I  fol- 
lowed him.  Hastily  donning  some  clothes,  we  went 
into  the  hall  on  tiptoe  and  descended  the  stairs.  The 
door  from  the  hall  to  the  sitting-room  was  open,  and 
also  the  door  to  the  kitchen.  It  was  not  a  dark  night ; 
and  without  striking  a  light  we  went  out  through  the 
wood-house  to  the  wagon-house,  for  we  felt  sure  that 
some  one  was  astir  out  there.  Just  then  we  heard  the 
outer  door  of  the  wagon-house  move  very  slowly  and, 
stealing  forward,  discovered  that  it  was  open  about  a 
foot.  Still  on  tiptoe  we  drew  near  and  were  just  in 
time  to  see  a  person  go  out  of  sight  down  the  lane  that 
led  to  the  road. 


152    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

"  Now  who  can  that  be  ? "  Addison  whispered. 
"  Looks  like  a  woman,  bareheaded." 

We  followed  cautiously,  and  at  the  gate  caught  an- 
other glimpse  of  the  mysterious  pedestrian  some  dis- 
tance down  the  road.  We  were  quite  sure  now  that  it 
was  a  woman.  We  kept  her  in  sight  as  far  as  the 
schoolhouse;  there  she  opened  the  door — the  school- 
house  was  rarely  locked  by  night  or  day — and  disap- 
peared inside. 

Opposite  the  schoolhouse  was  a  little  copse  of 
chokecherry  bushes,  and  we  stepped  in  among  them 
to  watch.  Some  moments  passed.  Twice  we  heard 
slight  sounds  inside.  Then  the  dim  figure  in  long 
clothes  came  slowly  out  and  returned  up  the  road  to- 
ward the  old  Squire's. 

"  Who  was  it  ?  "  Addison  said  to  me. 

"  Miss  Emmons,"  I  replied. 
'  Yes,"  Addison  assented  reluctantly. 

We  went  into  the  schoolhouse,  struck  matches,  and 
at  last  lighted  a  pine  splint.  The  drawer  to  the 
teacher's  desk  was  locked,  but  it  was  a  worn  old  lock, 
and  by  inserting  the  little  blade  of  his  knife  Addison 
at  last  pushed  the  bolt  back. 

Inside  were  the  teacher's  books  and  records.  A 
Fifth  Reader  that  we  took  up  opened  readily  to  Jim 
Doane's  bank  book. 

"  She  brought  that  here  to  hide  it !  "  I  exclaimed. 

Addison  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  "  Perhaps  she 
did,"  he  admitted.  "  She  was  walking  in  her  sleep." 

"  I  don't  believe  it !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  she  was,"  said  Addison.  "  She  was  walking 
in  her  sleep.  She  must  have  been." 

I  was  far  from  convinced,  but,  seeing  that  Addison 
was  determined  to  have  it  so,  I  said  no  more.  Taking 
the  book,  we  returned  home.  The  house  was  all  quiet. 

The  next  morning  at  the  breakfast  table  Ellen, 
Theodora  and  grandmother  began  to  speak  of  the  lost 
bank  book  again.  I  think  that  Addison  had  already 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    153 

said  something  in  private  to  the  old  Squire,  and  that 
they  had  come  to  an  agreement  as  to  the  best  course  to 
pursue. 

"  Don't  fret,  grandmother !  "  Addison  cried,  laugh- 
ing. "  The  book's  found !  We  found  it  late  last  night, 
after  all  the  rest  were  in  bed." 

There  was  a  general  exclamation  of  surprise.  I 
stole  a  glance  at  Miss  Emmons.  She  looked  amazed, 
and  I  thought  that  she  turned  pale;  but  she  was  al- 
ways pale. 

"  Yes,"  Addison  continued,  "  'twas  great  fun. 
Wilma,"  he  cried  familiarly,  "did  you  know  that  you 
walk  in  your  sleep?  " 

Miss  Emmons  uttered  some  sort  of  protest. 

"Well,  but  you  do!"  Addison  exclaimed.  "Of 
course  you  don't  remember  it.  Somnambulists  never 
do.  You  walked  as  if  you  were  walking  a  chalk  line. 
'Twas  the  fuss  we  made,  searching  for  Jim's  book  last 
night,  that  set  you  off,  I  suppose." 

Grandmother  and  the  girls  burst  in  with  a  hundred 
questions;  but  the  old  Squire  said  in  a  matter-of-fact 
tone: 

"  I  used  to  walk  in  my  sleep  myself,  when  anything 
had  excited  me  the  previous  evening.  Sometimes,  too, 
when  I  was  a  little  ill  of  a  cold." 

Then  the  old  gentleman  went  on  to  relate  odd  stories 
of  persons  who  had  walked  in  their  sleep  and  hidden 
articles,  particularly  money,  and  of  the  efforts  that  had 
been  made  to  find  the  misplaced  articles  afterwards. 
In  fact,  before  we  rose  from  the  table  he  had  more 
than  half  convinced  us  that  Addison's  view  of  the  mat- 
ter— if  it  were  his  view — was  the  right  one. 

Miss  Emmons  said  very  little  and  did  not  after- 
wards speak  of  the  matter,  although  Addison,  to  keep 
up  the  illusion,  sometimes  asked  her  jocosely  whether 
she  had  rested  well,  adding : 

"  I  thought  I  heard  you  up  walking  again  last 
night." 


154    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

The  incident  was  thus  charitably  passed  over.  I 
should  not  wish  to  say  positively  that  it  was  not  a  case 
of  sleepwalking,  but  I  think  every  one  of  us  feared 
that  this  devoted  sister  had  made  herself  believe  that, 
since  Jim  would  squander  his  money  in  drink,  it  was 
right  for  her  to  use  it  for  educating  her  brothers.  She 
probably  supposed  that  she  could  draw  the  money  her- 
self. 

And  what  became  of  the  hapless  bank  book  ?  It  was 
sent  to  Jim  as  he  had  demanded ;  and  we  may  suppose 
that  he  drew  the  money  and  spent  it.  At  any  rate, 
when  he  next  made  his  appearance  at  the  old  Squire's, 
two  years  later,  he  had  neither  book  nor  money. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

GRANDMOTHER    RUTH^S    LAST    LOAD   OF  HAY 

HAYING  time  at  the  old  farm  generally  began  on 
the  Monday  after  the  Fourth  of  July  and  lasted 
from  four  to  six  weeks,  according  to  the 
weather,  which  is  often  fitful  in  Maine.  We  usually 
harvested  from  seventy  to  seventy-five  tons,  and  in  the 
days  of  scythes  and  hand  rakes  that  meant  that  we  had 
to  do  a  good  deal  af  hard,  hot,  sweaty  work. 

Besides  Addison,  Halstead  and  me,  the  old  Squire 
had  the  two  hired  men,  Jim  and  Asa  Doane,  to  help 
him ;  and  sometimes  Elder  Witham,  who  was  quite  as 
good  with  a  scythe  as  with  a  sermon,  worked  for  us  a 
few  days. 

First  we  would  cut  the  grass  in  the  upland  fields 
nearest  the  farm  buildings,  then  the  grass  in  the  "  Aunt 
Hannah  lot  "  out  beyond  the  sugar-maple  orchard  and 
last  the  grass  in  the  south  field,  which,  since  it  was  on 
low,  wet  ground  where  there  were  several  long  swales, 
was  the  slowest  to  ripen.  Often  there  were  jolly  times 
when  we  cut  the  south  field.  Our  enjoyment  was 
owing  partly  to  the  fact  that  we  were  getting  toward 
the  end  of  the  hard  work,  and  partly  to  the  bumble- 
bees' nests  we  found  in  the  swales.  Moreover,  when 
we  reached  that  field  grandmother  Ruth  was  wont  to 
come  out  to  lay  the  last  load  of  hay  and  ride  to  the 
barn  on  it. 

In  former  days  when  she  and  the  old  Squire  were 
young  she  had  helped  him  a  great  deal  with  the  hay- 
ing. Nearly  every  day  she  finished  her  own  work 
early — the  cooking,  the  butter  making,  the  cheese 
making — and  came  out  to  the  field  to  help  rake  and 

155 


156    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

load  the  hay.  The  old  Squire  has  often  told  me  that, 
except  at  scythe  work,  grandmother  Ruth  was  the  best 
helper  he  had  ever  had,  for  at  that  time  she  was  quick, 
lithe  and  strong  and  understood  the  work  as  well  as 
any  man.  Later  when  they  were  in  prosperous  cir- 
cumstances she  gave  up  doing  so  much  work  out  of 
doors ;  but  still  she  enjoyed  going  to  the  hayfield,  and 
even  after  we  young  folks  had  gone  home  to  live  she 
made  it  her  custom  to  lay  the  last  load  of  hay  and  ride 
to  the  barn  on  it  just  to  show  that  she  could  do  it  still. 
She  was  now  sixty-four  years  old,  however,  and  had 
grown  stout,  so  stout  indeed  that  to  us  youngsters  she 
looked  rather  venturesome  on  a  load  of  hay.  On  the 
day  of  my  narrative,  we  had  the  last  of  the  grass  in  the 
south  fielc^  "  mown  and  making "  on  the  ground. 
There  were  four  or  five  tons  of  it,  all  of  which  we 
wanted  to  put  into  the  barn  before  night,  for,  though 
the  forenoon  was  bright  and  clear,  we  could  hear  dis- 
tant rumblings;  and  there  were  other  signs  that  foul 
weather  was  coming.  The  old  Squire  sent  Ellen  over 
to  summon  Elder  Witham  to  help  us ;  if  the  rain  held 
off  until  nightfall,  we  hoped  to  have  the  hay  inside 
the  barn. 

At  noon,  while  we  were  having  luncheon,  grand- 
mother Ruth  asked  at  what  time  we  expected  to  have 
the  last  load  ready  to  go  in. 

"  Not  before  five  o'clock,"  Asa  replied.  "  It  has  all 
to  be  raked  yet." 

"  Well,  I  shall  be  down  there  by  that  time,"  she  said 
in  a  very  matter-of-fact  tone.  "  I'll  bring  the  girls 
with  me." 

"  Don't  you  think,  Ruth,  that  perhaps  you  had  better 
give  it  up  this  year?  "  the  old  Squire  said  persuasively. 

"  But  why?"  grandmother  Ruth  exclaimed,  not  at 
all  pleased. 

"  Well,  you  know,  Ruth,  that  neither  of  us  is  quite 
so  young  as  we  once  were — "  the  old  Squire  began 
apologetically. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    157 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  Joseph,  not  for  me !  "  she  in- 
terrupted. "  I'm  young  enough  to  lay  a  load  of  hay 
yet!" 

:<  Yes,  yes,"  the  old  Squire  said  soothingly,  "  I  know 
you  are,  but  the  loads  are  rather  high,  and  you  know 
that  you  are  getting  quite  heavy— 

"  Then  I  can  tread  down  hay  all  the  better !  "  grand- 
mother Ruth  cried,  turning  visibly  pink  with  vexation. 

"  All  right,  all  right,  Ruth !  "  the  old  Squire  said 
with  a  smile,  prudently  abandoning  the  argument. 

Then  Elder  Witham  put  in  his  word.  *  The  Lord 
has  appointed  to  each  of  us  our  three-score  years  and 
ten,  and  it  behooves  us  to  be  mindful  that  the  end  of 
all  things  is  drawing  nigh,"  he  remarked  soberly. 

"  Look  here,  Elder  Witham,"  the  old  lady  exclaimed 
with  growing  impatience,  "  you  are  here  haying  to- 
day, not  preaching!  I'm  going  to  lay  that  load  of  hay 
if  there  are  men  enough  here  to  pitch  it  on  the  cart 
to  me." 

Jim  and  Asa  snorted;  Theodora's  efforts  to  keep 
a  grave  face  were  amusing;  and  with  queer  little 
wrinkles  gathering  round  the  corners  of  his  mouth  the 
old  Squire,  who  had  finished  his  luncheon,  rose  hastily 
to  go  out. 

We  went  back  to  the  south  field  and  plied  our  seven 
rakes  vigorously  for  an  hour  and  a  half.  Then  Asa 
went  to  get  the  horses  and  the  long  rack  cart.  That 
day,  I  remember,  Jim  laid  the  loads.  Halstead  helped 
him  to  tread  down  the  hay,  and  Elder  Witham  and  Asa 
pitched  it  on  the  cart.  The  old  Squire  had  mounted 
the  driver's  seat  and  taken  the  reins ;  and  Addison  and 
I  raked  up  the  scatterings  from  the  "  tumbles." 

In  the  course  of  two  hours  four  loads  of  the  hay  had 
gone  into  the  barn,  and  we  thought  that  the  thirty- 
three  tumbles  that  remained  could  be  drawn  at  the 
fifth  and  last  load.  It  was  then  that  grandmother  Ruth 
appeared.  She  had  been  watching  proceedings  from 
the  house  and  followed  the  cart  down  from  the  barn  to 


158    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

the  south  field,  resolutely  bent  on  laying  the  last  load. 
Theodora  and  Ellen  came  with  her  to  help  tread  down 
the  hay  on  the  cart. 

"  Here  I  am !  "  she  cried  cheerily.  She  tossed  her 
hayfork  into  the  empty  rack  and  climbed  in  after  it. 
Her  sun  hat  was  tied  under  her  chin,  and  she  had 
donned  a  white  waist  and  a  blue  denim  skirt.  "  Come 
on  now  with  your  hay !  " 

Elder  Witham  moistened  his  hands,  but  made  no 
comment.  Jim  was  grinning.  The  old  Squire  drove 
the  cart  between  two  tumbles,  and  the  work  of  pitching 
on  and  laying  the  load  began.  No  one  knew  better 
than  grandmother  Ruth  how  a  load  should  be  laid. 
She  first  filled  the  opposite  ends  of  the  rack  and  kept 
the  middle  low;  then  when  the  load  was  high  as  the 
rails  of  the  rack  she  began  prudently  to  lay  the  hay  out 
on  and  over  them,  so  as  to  have  room  to  build  a  large, 
wide  load. 

But  in  this  instance  there  was  a  hindrance  to  good 
loading  that  even  grandmother's  skill  could  not  wholly 
overcome.  Much  of  the  hay  for  that  last  load  was 
from  the  swales  at  the  lower  side  of  the  field,  where 
the  grass  was  wild  and  short  and  sedgy,  a  kind  that 
when  dry  is  difficult  to  pitch  with  forks  and  that,  since 
the  forkfuls  have  little  cohesion  and  tend  to  drop 
apart,  does  not  lie  well  on  the  rails  of  the  rack.  Such 
hay  farmers  sometimes  call  "  podgum." 

Fully  aware  of  the  fact,  the  old  Squire  now  said  in 
an  undertone  to  the  elder  and  to  Jim  that  they  had 
better  make  two  loads  of  the  thirty-three  tumbles.  But 
grandmother  Ruth  overheard  the  remark  and  mistook 
it  to  mean  that  the  old  Squire  did  not  believe  she  could 
lay  the  load.  It  mortified  her. 

"  No,  sir-ee!  "  she  shouted  down  to  the  old  Squire. 
"  I  hear  your  talk  about  two  loads,  and  it's  because  I'm 
on  the  cart!  I  won't  have  it  so!  You  give  me  that 
hay !  I'll  load  it ;  see  if  I  don't !  " 

"  Bully  for  you,  Gram!  "  shouted  Halstead. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    159 

It  was  no  use  to  try  to  dissuade  her  now,  as  the  old 
Squire  well  knew  from  long  experience.  When  her 
pride  was  touched  no  arguments  would  move  her. 

With  the  elder  heaving  up  great  forkfuls  and  grand- 
mother Ruth  valiantly  laying  them  at  the  front  and  at 
the  back  of  the  rack,  they  continued  loading  the  hay. 
Jim  tried  to  place  his  forkfuls  where  they  need  not  be 
moved  and  where  the  girls  could  tread  them  down. 

The  load  grew  higher,  for  now  that  we  were  in  the 
swales  the  hay  could  not  be  laid  out  widely.  It  would 
be  a  big  load,  or  at  least  a  lofty  one.  Grandmother 
Ruth  began  to  fear  lest  the  girls  should  fall  off,  and, 
calling  on  Elder  Witham  to  catch  them,  she  bade  them 
slide  down  cautiously  to  the  ground  at  the  rear  end  of 
the  cart.  She  then  went  on  laying  the  load  alone.  As 
a  consequence  it  was  not  so  firmly  trodden  and  became 
higher  and  higher  until  Jim  and  the  elder  could  hardly 
heave  their  forkfuls  high  enough  for  her  to  take  them. 
But  they  got  the  last  tumble  up  to  her  and  shouted, 
"  All  on!  "  to  the  old  Squire,  who  now  was  nearly  in- 
visible on  his  seat  in  front.  Grandmother  Ruth  settled 
herself  midway  on  the  load  to  ride  it  to  the  barn, 
thrusting  her  fork  deep  into  the  hay  so  as  to  have 
something  to  hold  on  by.  We  could  just  see  her  sun 
hat  and  her  face  over  the  hay;  she  looked  very  pink 
and  triumphant. 

Carefully  avoiding  stones  and  all  the  inequalities  in 
the  field,  the  old  Squire  drove  at  a  slow  walk.  I  sur- 
mise that  he  had  his  fears.  It  was  certainly  the  highest 
load  we  had  hauled  to  the  barn  that  summer. 

The  rest  of  us  followed  after,  glad  indeed  that  the 
long  task  of  haying  was  now  done,  and  that  the  last 
load  would  soon  be  in  the  barn.  Halfway  to  the  farm 
buildings  the  cart  road  led  through  a  gap  in  the  stone 
wall  where  two  posts  with  bars  separated  the  'south 
field  from  the  middle  field.  There  was  scanty  space 
for  the  load  to  pass  through,  and  in  his  anxiety  not  to 
foul  either  of  the  posts  the  old  Squire,  who  could  not 


160    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

see  well  because  of  the  overhanging  hay,  drove  a  few 
inches  too  close  to  one  of  them,  and  a  wheel  passed 
over  a  small  stone  beside  the  wheel  track.  The  jolt 
was  slight,  but  it  proved  sufficient  to  loosen  the  un- 
stable "  podgum."  The  load  had  barely  cleared  the 
posts  when  the  entire  side  of  it  came  sliding  down — 
and  grandmother  Ruth  with  it !  We  heard  her  cry  out 
as  she  fell,  and  then  all  of  us  who  were  behind  scaled 
the  wall  and  rushed  to  her  rescue.  The  old  Squire 
stopped  the  horses,  jumped  from  his  seat  over  the 
off  horse's  back  and  was  ahead  of  us  all,  crying, 
"Ruth,  Ruth!" 

There  was  a  huge  heap  of  loose  hay  on  the  ground, 
fully  ten  feet  high,  but  she  was  nowhere  to  be  seen  in 
it.  Nor  did  she  speak  or  stir. 

"Great  Lord,  I'm  afraid  it's  killed  her!"  Elder 
Witham  exclaimed.  Jim  and  Asa  stood  horrified,  and 
the  girls  burst  out  crying. 

The  old  Squire  had  turned  white.  "  Ruth !  Ruth !  " 
he  cried.  "  Are  you  badly  hurt  ?  Do  you  hear  ?  Can't 
you  answer?  "  Not  a  sound  came  from  the  hay,  not  a 
movement ;  and,  falling  on  his  knees,  he  began  digging 
it  away  with  his  hands.  None  of  us  dared  use  our  hay- 
forks, and  now,  following  his  example,  we  began  tear- 
ing away  armfuls  of  hay.  A  moment  later,  Addison, 
who  was  burrowing  nearly  out  of  sight,  got  hold  of 
one  of  her  hands.  It  frightened  him,  and  he  cried  out ; 
but  he  pulled  at  it.  Instantly  there  was  a  laugh  from 
somewhere  underneath,  then  a  scramble  that  continued 
until  at  last  grandmother  Ruth  emerged  without  aid 
of  any  soit  and  stood  up,  a  good  deal  rumpled  and 
covered  with  hay  but  laughing. 

"  It  didn't  hurt  me  a  mite !  "  she  protested.  "  I  came 
down  light  as  a  feather! " 

"  But  why  didn't  you  answer  when  we  called  to 
you  ?  "  the  elder  exclaimed  reprovingly.  "  You  kept  so 
still  we  were  scared  half  to  death  about  you!  " 

"  Oh,  I  just  wanted  to  see  what  you  would  all  do," 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    161 

she  replied  airily  and  still  laughing.  "  I  was  a  little 
afraid  you  would  stick  your  forks  into  the  hay,  but  I 
was  watching  for  that." 

The  old  Squire  was  so  relieved,  so  overjoyed,  to  see 
her  on  her  feet  unhurt  that  he  had  not  a  word  of  re- 
proach for  her.  All  he  said  was,  "  Ruth  Ann,  I'm 
afraid  you  are  growing  too  young  for  your  age !  " 

The  truth  is  that  grandmother  Ruth  was  dreadfully 
chagrined  that  the  load  she  had  laid  had  not  held  to- 
gether as  far  as  the  barn ;  and  it  was  partly  mortifica- 
tion, I  think,  that  led  her  to  lie  so  still  under  the  hay. 

She  wanted  to  remount  the  cart  and  have  the  hay 
pitched  up  to  her;  but  as  it  was  getting  late  in  the 
afternoon,  and  as  there  was  no  ladder  at  hand,  Jim 
and  Asa  hoisted  Addison  up,  and  he  succeeded  in  re- 
building the  load  so  that  we  were  able  to  take  it  into 
the  barn  without  further  incident. 

We  could  hardly  believe  that  the  fall  had  not  in- 
jured grandmother  Ruth,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact 
Theodora  afterwards  told  us  that  she  had  several  large 
black-and-blue  spots  as  a  result  of  her  adventure.  The 
old  lady  herself,  however,  scouted  the  idea  that  she 
had  been  in  the  least  injured  and  did  not  like  to  have  us 
show  any  solicitude  about  her. 

The  following  year,  as  haying  drew  to  a  close,  we 
young  folks  waited  curiously  to  see  whether  she  would 
speak  of  going  out  to  lay  the  last  load.  Not  a  word 
came  from  her ;  but  I  think  it  was  less  because  she  felt 
unable  to  go  than  it  was  that  she  feared  we  would 
refer  to  her  mishap  of  the  previous  summer. 


CHAPTER   XX 

WHEN   UNCLE  HANNIBAL  SPOKE  AT  THE  CHAPEL 

a  month  or  more  the  old  Squire  had  looked 
perplexed.  Two  of  his  lifelong  friends  were 
rival  candidates  for  the  senatorship  from  Maine, 
and  'each  had  expressed  the  hope  that  the  old  Squire 
would  aid  him  in  his  canvass.  Both  candidates  knew 
that  many  of  the  old  Squire's  friends  and  neighbors 
looked  to  him  for  guidance  in  political  matters.  With- 
out seeming  to  express  personal  preference,  the  old 
Squire  could  not  choose  between  them,  for  both  were 
statesmen  of  wide  experience  and  in  every  way  good 
men  for  the  office. 

The  first  was  Hannibal  Hamlin,  who  had  been 
Vice-President  with  Abraham  Lincoln  in  1861-1865 : 
"  Uncle  Hannibal,"  as  we  young  people  at  the  farm 
always  called  him  after  that  memorable  visit  of  his, 
when  we  ate  "  fried  pies  "  together.  He  had  been 
Senator  before  the  Civil  War,  and  also  Governor  of 
Maine;  now,  after  the  war,  in  1868,  he  had  again  been 
nominated  for  the  senatorship  under  the  auspices  of 
the  Republican  party. 

The  other  candidate,  the  Hon.  Lot  M.  Morrill,  had 
been  Governor  of  Maine  in  1858,  and  had  also  been 
United  States  Senator.  I  cherished  a  warm  feeling 
for  him,  for  he  was  the  man  who  had  so  opportunely 
helped  me  to  capture  the  runaway  calf,  Little  Dagon. 

Politically,  we  young  folks  were  much  divided  in 
our  sympathies  that  fall.  My  cousins  Addison  and 
Theodora  were  ardent  supporters  of  Uncle  Hannibal, 
whereas  I,  thinking  of  that  calf,  could  not  help  feeling 
loyal  to  Senator  Morrill.  Hot  debates  we  had !  Hal- 

163 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    163 

stead  alone  was  indifferent.  At  last  Ellen  declared 
herself  on  my  side  and  thus  made  a  tie  at  table.  I 
never  knew  whom  the  old  Squire  favored;  he  never 
told  us  and  was  always  reluctant  to  speak  of  the 
matter. 

It  was  a  very  close  contest,  and  in  the  legislature 
was  finally  decided  by  a  plurality  of  one  in  favor  of 
-Mr.  Hamlin.  Seventy-five  votes  were  cast  for  him, 
seventy- four  for  Mr.  Morrill,  and  there  was  one  blank 
vote,  over  which  a  dispute  later  arose. 

Earlier  in  the  season,  when  the  legislators  who  were 
to  decide  the  matter  at  Augusta  were  being  elected, 
both  candidates  made  personal  efforts  to  win  popular 
support.  Thus  it  happened  that  Uncle  Hannibal  on 
one  of  his  visits  to  his  native  town  that  year,  promised 
to  give  us  a  little  talk.  Since  there  was  no  public  hall 
in  the  neighborhood,  the  gathering  was  to  be  held  at 
the  capacious  old  Methodist  chapel. 

There  had  been  no  regular  preaching  there  of  late, 
and  the  house  had  fallen  into  lamentable  disrepair. 
The  roof  was  getting  leaky;  the  wind  had  blown  off 
several  of  the  clapboards;  and  a  large  patch  of  the 
plaster,  directly  over  the  pulpit,  had  fallen  from  the 
ceiling. 

Fall  was  now  drawing  on,  with  colder  weather,  and 
so,  on  the  day  of  Uncle  Hannibal's  talk,  the  old  Squire 
sent  Addison  and  me  over  to  the  chapel  to  kindle  a  fire 
in  the  big  box  stove  and  also  to  sweep  out  the  place. 

We  drove  over  in  the  morning — the  meeting  was  to 
begin  at  two  o'clock — and  set  to  work  at  once.  While 
we  were  sweeping  up  the  debris  we  noticed  insects 
flying  round  overhead.  For  a  while,  however,  we  gave 
them  little  heed ;  Addison  merely  remarked  that  there 
was  probably  a  hornets'  nest  up  in  the  loft,  but  that 
hornets  would  not  molest  any  one  if  they  were  left 
alone.  But  after  we  had  kindled  a  fire  in  the  stove  and 
the  long  funnel  had  begun  to  heat  the  upper  part  of  the 
room,  they  began  to  fly  in  still  greater  numbers.  Soon 


164    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

one  of  them  darted  down  at  us,  and  Addison  pulled  off 
his  hat  to  drive  it  away. 

"  I  say !  "  he  cried,  as  his  eyes  followed  the  insect 
where  it  alighted  on  the  ceiling.  "  That's  no  hornet ! 
That's  a  honeybee — and  an  Egyptian,  too !  " 

We  quickly  made  sure  that  they  were  indeed  Egyp- 
tian bees.  They  were  coming  down  through  the  cracks 
'between  the  laths  at  the  place  where  the  plaster  had 
fallen  from  the  ceiling. 

"  Do  you  suppose  there's  a  swarm  of  bees  up  there 
in  the  loft?  "  Addison  exclaimed.  "  I'll  bet  there  is," 
he  added,  "  a  runaway  swarm  that's  gone  in  at  the 
gable  end  outside,  where  the  clapboards  are  off." 

He  climbed  up  on  the  high  pulpit  and  with  the 
handle  of  the  broom  rapped  on  the  ceiling.  We  im- 
mediately heard  a  deep  humming  sound  overhead,  and 
so  many  bees  flew  down  through  the  cracks  that  Addi- 
son descended  in  haste.  We  retreated  toward  the 
door. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  when  Senator  Hamlin 
and  all  the  people  come  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know !  "  Addison  muttered,  perplexed. 
"  That  old  loft  is  roaring  full  of  bees.  We've  got  to 
do  something  with  them,  or  there  won't  be  any  speak- 
ing here  to-day." 

We  thought  of  stopping  up  the  cracks,  but  there 
were  too  many  of  them  to  make  that  practicable.  To 
dislodge  the  swarm  from  the  loft,  too,  would  be 
equally  difficult,  for  the  more  we  disturbed  the  bees  the 
more  furious  they  would  become. 

At  last  we  thought  of  the  old  Squire's  bee  smoker 
with  which  he  had  sometimes  subdued  angry  swarms 
that  were  bent  on  stinging. 

"  You  drive  home  as  fast  as  you  can  and  get  the 
smoker  and  a  ladder,"  Addison  said,  "  and  I'll  stay 
here  to  watch  the  fire  in  the  stove." 

So  I  drove  old  Nance  home  at  her  best  pace.  When 
I  got  there  I  looked  for  the  old  Squire  to  tell  him  of 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    165 

our  trouble,  but  found  that  he  had  already  driven  to 
the  village  to  meet  Senator  Hamlin  and  the  other 
speakers  of  the  afternoon.  Grandmother  and  the  girls 
were  too  busy  getting  ready  for  the  distinguished 
guests,  who  were  to  have  supper  with  us,  to  give  much 
heed  to  my  story  of  the  bees.  So  I  got  the  smoker, 
the  box  of  elm-wood  punk  and  a  ladder  about  fourteen 
feet  long,  and  with  this  load  drove  back  at  top  speed 
to  the  meetinghouse. 

Addison  had  eaten  his  share  of  the  luncheon  that  we 
had  brought,  and  while  I  devoured  mine  he  pottered 
with  the  smoker;  neither  of  us  understood  very  well 
how  it  worked.  There  are  now  several  kinds  of  bee 
smokers  on  the  market;  but  the  old  Squire  had  con- 
trived  this  one  by  making  use  of  an  old-fashioned 
bellows  to  puff  the  smoke  from  out  of  a  two-quart  tin 
can  in  which  the  punk  wood  was  fired  by  means  of  a 
live  coal.  The  nose  of  the  bellows  was  inserted  at  one 
end  of  the  can ;  and  into  a  hole  at  the  other  end  the  old 
gentleman  had  soldered  a  short  tin  tube  through  which 
he  could  blow  the  smoke  in  any  direction  he  desired. 
In  oirder  not  to  burn  his  fingers  he  had  inclosed  both 
bellows  and  can  in  supporting  strips  of  wood ;  thus  he 
could  hold  the  contrivance  in  one  hand  and  squeeze 
the  bellows  with  the  other. 

As  we  were  unfamiliar  with  the  contrivance,  we 
both  had  to  climb  the  ladder — one  to  hold  the  can  and 
the  other  to  pump  the  bellows.  We  lost  so  much  time 
in  getting  started  that  when  at  last  we  were  ready  to 
begin  operations  people  had  already  begun  to  arrive. 
They  asked  us  all  sorts  of  questions  and  bothered  us  a 
good  deal,  but  we  kept  right  on  at  our  task.  The 
smoker  was  working  well,  and  we  felt  greatly  en- 
couraged. Those  rings  of  black  vapor  drove  the  bees 
back  and,  as  the  smoke  rose  through  the  cracks,  pre- 
vented them  from  coming  down  again. 

We  were  still  up  that  ladder  by  the  pulpit,  puffing 
smoke  at  those  cracks,  when  the  old  Squire  and  Uncle 


166    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

Hannibal  arrived,  with  Judge  Peters  and  the  Hon. 
Hiram  Bliss.  The  house  was  now  full  of  people,  and 
they  cheered  the  newcomers;  there  was  not  a  little 
laughter  and  joking  when  some  one  told  the  visiting 
statesmen  that  a  swarm  of  bees  was  overhead. 

"  Boys,"  Uncle  Hannibal  cried,  "  do  you  suppose 
there's  much  honey  up  there?  " 

He  asked  the  Squire  whether  Egyptian  bees  were 
good  honey  gatherers,  and  laughed  heartily  when  the 
old  gentleman  told  him  what  robbers  they  were  and 
how  savagely  they  stung. 

"  Judge !  "  Uncle  Hannibal  cried  to  Judge  Peters. 
"  That's  what's  the  matter  with  our  Maine  politics. 
The  Egyptians  are  robbing  us  of  our  liberties !  " 

That  idea  seemed  to  'Stick  in  his  mind,  for  later, 
when  he  began  his  address,  he  referred  humorously  to 
several  prominent  leaders  of  the  opposing  party  as 
bold,  bad  Egyptians.  "  We  shall  have  to  smoke  them 
out,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  And  I  guess  that  the  voters 
of  this  district  are  going  to  do  it,  and  the  boys,  too," 
he  continued,  pointing  up  to  us  on  the  ladder. 

He  had  refused  to  speak  from  the  pulpit,  and  so 
stood  on  the  floor  of  the  house — in  what  he  described 
as  his  proper  place;  the  pulpit,  he  said,  was  no  place 
for  politics. 

After  so  many  years  I  cannot  pretend  to  remember 
all  that  Uncle  Hannibal  said ;  besides,  my  attention  was 
largely  engrossed  in  directing  the  nozzle  of  the  smoker 
at  those  cracks  between  the  laths.  Addison  and  I  were 
badly  crowded  on  the  ladder,  and  the  small  rungs  were 
not  comfortable  to  stand  on.  Now  and  then,  in  spite 
of  our  efforts,  an  Egyptian  got  through  the  cracks  and 
dived  down  near  Uncle  Hannibal's  head. 

"  A  little  more  smoke  up  there,  boys !  "  he  would 
cry,  pretending  to  dodge  the  insect.  "  I  thought  I 
heard  an  Egyptian  then,  and  it  sounded  a  little  like 
Brother  Merrill's  voice !  " 

The  great  buzzing  that  was  going  on  up  in  the  loft 


WHEN    UNCLE    HANNIBAL    SPOKE    AT    THE    CHAPEL 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    167 

was  plainly  audible  below.  Now  and  again  Uncle 
Hannibal  cocked  his  ear  to  listen,  and  once  he  cried, 
"  The  Egyptians  are  rallying !  We  are  going  to  have 
a  hard  fight  with  them  this  year.  Don't  let  them  rob 
us!" 

When  the  old  Squire  introduced  the  next  speaker, 
Judge  Peters,  Senator  Hamlin  remarked  that  Peters 
was  a  hard  stinger  himself,  as  many  a  criminal  had 
learned  to  his  cost.  And  when  the  Hon.  Hiram  Bliss 
was  introduced,  Uncle  Hannibal  cut  in  with  the  remark 
that  we  need  make  no  mistake  on  account  of  Mr. 
Bliss's  name,  for  when  he  got  after  the  Egyptians  they 
would  be  in  anything  except  a  blissful  state  of  mind. 
He  also  jocosely  bade  Mr.  Bliss  not  to  talk  too  long. 

"  We  must  get  that  honey,"  he  said,  laughing 
heartily.  "I'd  much  rather  have  some  honey  than  hear 
one  of  your  old  dry  speeches !  " 

During  Mr.  Bliss's  address  we  boys  were  wondering 
whether  Senator  Hamlin  really  intended  to  try  to  get 
that  honey.  We  were  inclined  to  think  that  he  had 
merely  been  joking;  but  Mr.  Bliss  had  no  sooner  sat 
down  than  Uncle  Hannibal  was  on  his  feet. 

"Now  for  that  honey!"  he  cried  with  twinkling 
eyes.  "  I  feel  sure  there's  enough  up  there  for  every 
one  to  have  a  bite." 

"  How  are  you  going  to  get  it  ?  "  some  one  said. 

"  Why,  go  right  up  and  take  it !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  You  know,  my  friends,  that  all  through  the  Civil 
War  I  had  the  misfortune  to  be  Vice- President,  which 
is  about  the  'most  useless,  sit-still-and-do-nothing  office 
in  this  country.  All  those  four  years  I  wanted  to  go  to 
the  front  and  do  something.  I  wanted  to  be  a  general 
or  a  private  with  a  gun.  The  war  is  past,  thank  God, 
but  I  haven't  got  over  that  feeling  yet,  and  now  I  want 
to  lead  an  attack  on  those  Egyptians !  Back  there  over 
the  singers'  gallery  I  think  I  see  a  scuttle  that  leads  up 
into  the  loft.  Come  on,  boys,  and  fetch  a  bucket  or 
two,  or  some  baskets.  Let's  storm  the  fort !  " 


168    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

The  crowd  was  laughing  now,  and  men  were  shout- 
ing advice  of  all  sorts.  Uncle  Hannibal  was  already 
on  his  way  to  the  singers'  gallery,  and  Addison,  hastily 
thrusting  the  smoker  into  my  hands,  got  down  from 
the  ladder  and  ran  to  help  our  distinguished  visitor. 
Others  followed  them  up  the  back  stairs  to  the  gallery ; 
but  the  old  Squire,  seeing  what  was  likely  to  happen, 
came  to  my  assistance  on  the  ladder.  Taking  the 
smoker  into  his  own  hands,  he  worked  it  vigorously 
in  order  to  send  as  much  smoke  as  possible  up  into 
the  loft. 

But  on  pushing  up  the  scuttle  the  opening  was  found 
to  be  no  more  than  fifteen  inches  square;  and  Uncle 
Hannibal  was  a  two-hundred-pound  man  with  broad 
shoulders.  He  mounted  the  singers'  bench,  but  he 
could  barely  get  his  large  black  head  up  through  the 
hole. 

"  Ah !  "  he  cried  in  disgust.  "  Why  didn't  they  make 
it  larger?  Just  my  luck.  I  never  can  get  to  the 
front!" 

Grabbing  Addison  playfully  by  the  shoulder  he  said, 
"  I  will  put  you  up." 

But  at  first  Addison  held  back.  "  They'll  sting  me  to 
death !  "  he  protested. 

"  Wait!  "  Uncle  Hannibal  cried.  "  We  will  rig  you 
up  for  it ! "  And  leaning  over  the  front  rail  of  the 
gallery,  he  shouted,  "  Has  any  lady  got  a  veil — two  or 
three  veils  ?  " 

Several  women  gave  their  veils,  which  Uncle  Hanni- 
bal tied  over  Addison's  hat ;  then  the  Senator  put  his 
own  large  gloves  on  Addison's  hands.  By  that  time 
the  gallery  was  full  of  people — all  laughing  and  giving 
advice.  A  man  produced  some  string,  and  with  it  they 
tied  Addison's  trouser  legs  down  and  fastened  his 
jacket  sleeves  tight  round  the  wrists.  Then  Uncle 
Hannibal  lifted  him  up  as  if  he  had  been  a  child  and  at 
one  boost  shoved  him  up  through  the  scuttle  hole. 
When  Addison  had  got  to  his  feet  in  the  loft,  the 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    169 

Senator  passed  him  a  wicker  lunch  basket  and  a  tin 
pail. 

Tiptoeing  his  way  perilously  over  the  scantlings, 
laths  and  plaster,  Addison  made  his  way  back  to  the 
rear  end  of  the  meetinghouse.  The  honeycombs  were 
mostly  on  a  beam  against  the  boards  of  the  outer  wall. 
The  punk  smoke  was  so  dense  up  there  that  he  could 
hardly  get  his  breath.  The  bees,  nearly  torpid  from 
the  smoke,  were  crawling  sluggishly  along  on  the  un- 
derside of  the  roof,  and  offered  no  resistance  when 
Addison  broke  off  the  combs. 

With  his  basket  and  pail  well  filled,  he  tiptoed  back 
to  the  scuttle  and  handed  the  spoils  to  Uncle  Hannibal, 
who  instantly  led  the  way  down  the  back  stairs  and 
outdoors. 

"  We  have  despoiled  the  Egyptians !  "  he  cried.  "  I 
didn't  do  much  myself,  but  a  younger  hero  has  ap- 
peared. Now  for  a  sweet  time !  "  And  he  passed  the 
pail  and  basket  round. 

There  was  as  much  as  twenty  pounds  of  honey,  and 
every  one  got  at  least  a  taste.  The  old  Squire  and  I 
had  now  stopped  puffing  smoke,  and  we  joined  the 
others  outside.  To  this  day  I  remember  just  how 
Uncle  Hannibal  looked  as  he  stood  there  on  the  meet- 
inghouse platform,  with  a  chunk  of  white,  dripping 
comb  in  his  hand.  He  took  a  big  bite  from  it ;  and  I 
said  to  myself  that,  if  he  took  many  more  bites  like 
that  one,  there  would  not  be  much  honey  left  for  the 
old  Squire  and  me.  But  we  got  a  taste  of  it,  and  very 
good  honey  it  was. 

Our  victory  over  the  Egyptians,  however,  was  not 
yet  complete.  Either  because  the  smoke  was  now 
clearing  up,  or  because  they  smelled  the  honey  that  we 
were  eating,  they  began  to  come  round  to  the  front  end 
of  the  house,  where  they  hovered  over  the  people  and 
darted  down  savagely  at  them.  Outcries  arose;  men 
and  women  tried  frantically  to  brush  the  insects  away. 
Horses  out  at  the  sheds  began  to  squeal.  More  bees 


170    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

were  coming  round  every  moment — the  angriest  bees 
I  have  ever  seen !  They  stung  wherever  they  touched. 
Judge  Peters  and  Mr.  Bliss  were  fighting  the  insects 
with  both  hands ;  and  Uncle  Hannibal,  too,  was  pawing 
the  air,  with  guffaws  of  laughter. 

"  The  Egyptians  are  getting  the  best  of  us !  "  he 
cried.  "  We  had  better  retire  in  as  good  order  as  we 
can — or  it  will  be  another  Bull  Run !  " 

Retreat  was  clearly  the  part  of  discretion,  and  so  the 
whole  gathering  streamed  away  down  the  road  to  a 
safe  distance.  In  fact,  there  was  a  pretty  lively  time 
before  all  of  the  people  had  unhitched  their  teams  and 
got  away.  But  in  spite  of  many  bee  stings  it  had  been 
a  very  hilarious  meeting;  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that 
all  who  were  at  the  Methodist  chapel  that  afternoon 
wanted  Uncle  Hannibal  for  Senator. 

The  old  Squire  drove  home  with  his  guests  to 
supper;  Addison  and  I  gathered  up  our  brooms  and 
bee  smoker  and  followed  them. 

At  supper  Uncle  Hannibal  asked  us  to  tell  him  more 
about  those  Egyptian  bees,  of  which  he  had  never 
heard  before ;  and  after  the  meal  he  went  out  to  see  the 
colonies  in  the  garden.  He  walked  up  to  a  hive  and 
boldly  caught  one  of  the  bees  between  his  thumb  and 
forefinger.  Holding  it  fast,  he  picked  up  a  pea  pod  for 
it  to  sting,  so  that  he  could  see  how  long  a  stinger  it 
had. 

"  Ah,  but  that  is  a  cruel  chap !  "  he  said.  '  You'll 
have  to  use  brimstone,  I  guess,  to  get  those  Egyptians 
out  of  the  meetinghouse." 

In  point  of  fact,  brimstone  was  what  two  of  the 
church  stewards  did  use,  a  few  weeks  later,  before 
there  were  services  at  the  chapel  again;  but  they  did 
not  find  much  honey  left. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

THAT   MYSTERIOUS   DAGUERREOTYPE  SALOON 

TJV3R  two  years  our  young  neighbor  Catherine  had 

been  carrying  on  a  little  industry  that  had  proved 

fairly  lucrative — namely,  gathering  and  curing 

wild  herbs  and  selling  them  to  drug  stores  in  Portland. 

Her  grandmother  had  taught  her  how  to  cure  and 

press  the  herbs.    One  season  she  sold  seventy  dollars' 

worth. 

Catherine  took  many  long  jaunts  to  gather  her  herbs 
— thoroughwort,  goldthread,  catnip,  comfrey,  skull- 
cap, pennyroyal,  lobelia,  peppermint,  old-man' s-root, 
snakehead  and  others  of  greater  or  less  medicinal 
value.  She  soon  came  to  know  where  all  those  various 
wild  plants  grew  for  miles  round.  Naturally  she 
wished  to  keep  her  business  for  herself  and  was  rather 
chary  about  telling  others  where  the  herbs  she  collected 
grew. 

She  had  heard  that  thoroughwort  was  growing  in 
considerable  quantity  in  the  old  pastures  at  "  Dresser's 
Lonesome."  She  did  not  like  to  go  up  there  alone, 
however,  for  the  place  was  ten  or  eleven  miles  away, 
and  the  road  that  led  to  it  ran  for  most  of  the  distance 
through  deep  woods;  a  road  that  once  proceeded 
straight  through  to  Canada,  but  had  long  since  been 
abandoned.  Years  before,  a  young  man  named  Abner 
Dresser  had  cleared  a  hundred  acres  of  land  up  there 
and  built  a  house  and  a  large  barn;  but  his  wife  had 
been  so  lonely — there  was  no  neighbor  within  ten 
miles — that  he  had  at  last  abandoned  the  place. 

Finally  Catherine  asked  my  cousin  Theodora  to  go 
up  to  "  Dresser's  Lonesome  "  with  her  and  offered  to 

171 


172    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

share  the  profits  of  the  trip.  No  one  enjoyed  such  a 
jaunt  better  than  Theodora,  and  one  day  early  the 
previous  August,  they  persuaded  me  to  harness  one  of 
the  work  horses  to  the  double-seated  buckboard  and  to 
take  them  up  there  for  the  day. 

It  was  a  long,  hard  drive,  for  the  old  road  was  badly 
overgrown;  indeed  we  were  more  than  two  hours  in 
reaching  the  place.  What  was  our  amazement  when 
we  drew  near  the  deserted  old  farmhouse  to  see  a 
"  daguerreotype  saloon  "  standing  before  it :  one  of 
those  peripatetic  studios  on  wheels,  in  which  "  artists  " 
used  to  journey  about  the  country  taking  photographs. 
Of  course,  card  photographs  had  not  come  into  vogue 
then;  but  there  were  the  daguerreotypes,  and  later  the 
tintypes,  and  finally  the  ambrotypes  in  little  black-and- 
gilt  cases. 

Those  "  saloons  "  were  picturesque  little  contriv- 
ances, not  much  more  than  five  feet  wide  by  fifteen 
feet  long,  and  mounted  on  wheels.  On  each  side  was 
a  little  window,  and  overhead  was  a  larger  skylight ;  a 
flight  of  three  steps  led  up  to  a  narrow  door  at  the 
rear.  The  door  opened  into  the  "  saloon  "  proper, 
where  the  camera  and  the  visitor's  chair  stood;  for- 
ward of  that  was  the  cuddy  under  the  skylight,  in 
which  the  photographer  did  his  developing. 

The  photographer  was  usually  some  ambitious  young 
fellow  who,  after  learning  his  trade,  often  made  and 
painted  his  "  saloon  "  himself.  Frequently  he  slept  in 
it,  and  sometimes  cooked  his  meals  in  it.  If  he  did  not 
own  a  horse,  he  usually  made  a  bargain  with  some 
farmer  to  haul  him  to  his  next  stopping  place  in  ex- 
change for  taking  his  picture.  When  business  grew 
dull  in  one  neighborhood,  he  moved  to  another.  He 
was  the  true  Bohemian  of  his  trade — the  gypsy  of 
early  photography. 

The  forward  wheels  of  this  one  were  gone,  and  its 
front  end  was  propped  up  level  on  a  short  piece  of 
timber;  but  otherwise  the  "saloon"  looked  as  if  the 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    173 

"  artist "  might  at  that  moment  be  developing  a  plate 
inside. 

On  closer  inspection,  however,  we  saw  that  weeds 
had  sprung  up  beneath  and  about  it,  and  I  guessed 
that  the  wagon  had  been  standing  there  for  at  least 
a  month  or  two;  and  on  peeping  in  at  the  little  end 
door  we  saw  that  birds  or  squirrels  had  been  in  and 
out  of  the  place.  All  that  we  could  make  of  it  was 
that  the  photographer,  whoever  he  was,  had  come 
there,  left  his  "  saloon  "  and  gone  away — with  the 
forward  wheels. 

We  gathered  a  load  of  herbs  and  drove  home  again, 
much  puzzled  by  our  discovery.  The  story  of  the 
"  daguerreotype  saloon  "  at  Dresser's  Lonesome  soon 
spread  abroad,  but  no  one  was  able  to  furnish  a  clue 
to  its  history.  Of  course  all  manner  of  rumors  began 
to  circulate;  some  people  declared  that  the  owner  of 
the  "  saloon  "  must  be  a  naturalist  who  had  journeyed 
up  there  to  take  pictures  of  wild  animal  life;  others 
thought  that  the  photographer  had  lost  his  way  and 
perished  in  the  woods. 

When  Willis  Murch  passed  along  the  old  road  in 
October  that  fall,  the  mysterious  "  saloon  "  was  still 
standing  there ;  and  lumbermen  spoke  of  seeing  it  there 
during  the  winter.  That  next  August,  a  year  after  we 
had  first  discovered  it,  Catherine  and  Theodora  again 
went  up  to  Dresser's  Lonesome  to  gather  herbs;  and 
still  the  "  daguerreotype  saloon  "  (was  there. 

It  was  Halstead  who  carried  the  girls  up  on  that 
trip.  The  weather  had  been  threatening  when  they 
started,  and  showers  soon  set  in ;  rain  fell  pretty  much 
all  the  afternoon,  so  that  the  girls  were  badly  delayed 
in  gathering  their  herbs.  When  Halstead  declared  that 
it  was  high  time  to  start  for  home,  Catherine  proposed 
that  they  stay  there  overnight  and  finish  their  task  the 
next  day.  The  roof  of  the  old  farmhouse  was  now 
so  leaky  that  they  could  find  no  shelter  there  from 
the  rain;  but  Catherine  suggested  that  the  deserted 


174    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

"  daguerreotype  saloon "  would  be  a  cosy  place  to 
camp  in. 

Theodora  did  not  like  the  idea  very  well,  for  the 
region  was  wild  and  lonely,  and  Halstead  thought  he 
ought  to  return  to  the  farm. 

"  Why,  this  old  saloon  is  just  as  good  as  a  house!  " 
Catherine  said.  '"  We  can  fasten  the  door,  and  then 
nothing  can  get  in.  And  we  have  plenty  of  lunch  left 
for  our  supper." 

At  last  Theodora  reluctantly  agreed  to  stay. 
Promising  to  return  for  them  by  noon  the  next  day, 
Halstead  then  started  for  home.  After  he  had  gone, 
the  girls  gathered  a  quart  or  more  of  raspberries,  to 
eat  with  their  supper.  When  they  had  finished  the 
meal,  they  made,  with  the  sacks  of  herbs,  a  couch  on 
the  floor  of  the  "  saloon,"  and  Catherine  fastened  the 
door  securely  by  leaning  a  narrow  plank  from  the  floor 
of  the  old  barn  against  it. 

For  a  while  the  girls  lay  and  talketf  in  low  tones. 
Outside  everything  was  very  quiet,  and  scarcely  a 
sound  came  to  their  ears.  All  nature  seemed  to  have 
gone  to  rest;  not  a  whippoorwill  chanted  nor  an  owl 
hooted  about  the  old  buildings.  Before  long  Catherine 
fell  peacefully  asleep.  Theodora,  however,  who  was 
rather  ill  at  ease  in  these  wild  surroundings,  had  deter- 
mined to  stay  awake,  and  lay  listening  to  the  crickets 
in  the  grass  under  the  "  saloon."  But  crickets  make 
drowsy  music,  and  at  last  she,  too,  dropped  asleep. 

Not  very  much  later  something  bumped  lightly 
against  the  front  end  of  the  "  saloon  "  outside ;  the 
noise  was  repeated  several  times.  Oddly  enough,  it 
was  not  Theodora  who  waked,  but  Catherine.  She  sat 
up  and,  remembering  instantly  where  she  was,  listened 
without  stirring  or  speaking.  Her  first  thought  was 
that  a  deer  had  come  round  and  was  rubbing  itself 
against  the  "  saloon." 

"  It  will  soon  go  away,"  she  said  to  herself,  and  did 
not  rouse  her  companion. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    175 

The  queer,  bumping,  jarring  sounds  continued,  how- 
ever, and  presently  were  followed  by  a  heavy  jolt. 
Then  for  some  moments  Catherine  heard  footsteps  in 
the  weeds  outside,  and  told  herself  that  there  must  be 
two  or  three  deer.  She  was  not  alarmed,  for  she  knew 
that  the  animals  would  not  harm  them ;  but  she  hoped 
that  they  would  not  waken  Theodora,  who  might  be 
needlessly  frightened. 

But  presently  she  heard  a  sound  that  she  could  not 
explain;  it  was  like  the  jingling  of  a  small  chain. 
Rising  quietly,  she  peeped  out  of  one  of  the  little  side 
windows,  and  then  out  of  the  other.  The  clouds  had 
cleared  away,  and  bright  moonlight  flooded  the  place, 
but  she  could  not  see  anywhere  the  cause  of  the  dis- 
turbance. Whatever  had  made  the  sounds  was  out  of 
sight  in  front;  there  was  no  window  at  that  end  of 
the  "  saloon." 

Still  not  much  alarmed,  Catherine  stepped  up  on  the 
one  old  chair  of  the  studio  and  cautiously  raised  the 
hinged  skylight.  At  that  very  instant,  however,  the 
"  saloon  "  started  as  if  of  its  own  accord  and  moved 
slowly  across  the  yard  and  down  the  road ! 

The  wagon  started  so  suddenly  that  Catherine  fell 
off  the  chair.  Theodora  woke,  but  before  she  could 
speak  or  cry  out  Catherine  was  beside  her. 

"  Hush !  Hush !  "  she  whispered,  and  put  her  hand 
over  her  companion's  mouth.  "  Don't  be  scared !  Keep 
quiet.  Some  one  is  drawing  the  old  saloon  away !  " 

That  was  far  from  reassuring  to  Theodora.  "  Oh, 
what  shall  we  do?  "  she  whispered  in  terror. 

Catherine  was  still  begging  her  to  be  silent,  when  a 
terrific  jolt  nearly  threw  her  off  her  feet.  In  great 
alarm  the  girls  sprang  to  the  little  rear  door  to  get  out 
and  escape. 

But  as  a  result  probably  of  the  rocking  and  strain- 
ing of  the  frail  structure,  the  plank  that  Catherine  set 
against  the  door  had  settled  down  and  stuck  fast. 
Again  and  again  she  tried  to  pull  it  away,  but  she 


176    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

could  not  move  it.  Theodora  also  tugged  at  it — 
in  vain.  They  were  imprisoned;  they  could  not  get 
out;  and  meanwhile  the  old  "saloon  "  was  bumping 
•  over  the  rough  road. 

"  Oh,  who  do  you  suppose  it  is?"  Theodora  whis- 
pered, weak  from  fear.  "  Where  do  you  suppose  he  is 
going  with  us  ?  " 

"  We  must  find  out.  Hold  the  chair  steady,  Doad, 
if  you  can,  while  I  get  up  and  look  out." 

She  set  the  chair  under  the  skylight  again,  and  then, 
while  Theodora  held  it  steady,  climbed  upon  it — no 
easy  matter  with  the  vehicle  rocking  so  violently — and 
tried  to  raise  the  skylight.  But  that,  too,  had  jammed. 
At  last,  by  pushing  hard  against  it,  she  succeeded  in 
raising  it  far  enough  to  let  her  peer  out  over  the  flat 
roof. 

There,  in  the  moonlight,  she  saw  a  strange-looking 
creature, — a  man, — who  rolled  and  ambled  rather  than 
walked;  he  was  leading  a  white  horse  by  the  bit,  and 
the  horse  was  dragging  the  "  saloon  "  down  the  road. 
The  man  was  a  truly  terrifying  spectacle.  He  seemed 
to  be  a  giant ;  his  head  projected  far  forward  between 
his  shoulders,  and  on  his  back  was  what  looked  like 
a  camel's  hump !  His  feet  were  not  like  human  feet, 
but  rather  like  huge  hoofs;  and  the  man,  if  he  was 
one,  wabbled  forward  on  them  in  a  way  that  turned 
Catherine  quite  sick  with  apprehension.  All  she  could 
think  of  was  the  picture  of  Giant  Despair  in  her  grand- 
mother's copy  of  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress. 

Unable  to  imagine  who  or  what  he  could  be, 
Catherine  stood  for  some  moments  and  stared  at  him, 
fascinated.  All  the  while  Theodora  was  anxiously 
whispering : 

"Who  is  it?    Who  is  it?    Oh,  let  me  see!" 

"  Don't  try  to  look,"  Catherine  answered  earnestly, 
as  she  leaped  to  the  floor.  "  Doad,  we  must  get  out  if 


we  can." 


She  threw  herself  at  the  door  again  and  tried  to 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    177 

pull  it  open;  Theodora  joined  her,  but  even  together 
they  could  not  stir  it. 

Meanwhile  the  "  saloon  "  swayed  and  jolted  over 
the  rough  road ;  to  keep  from  pitching  headlong  from 
side  to  side  the  girls  had  to  sit  down  on  the  sacks. 
Their  one  consoling  thought  was  that,  if  they  could 
not  get  out,  their  captor,  whoever  he  was,  could  not 
get  in. 

They  were  a  little  cheered,  too,  when  they  realized 
that  the  wagon  was  apparently  following  the  road  that 
led  toward  home.  But  when  they  had  gone  about  three 
or  four  miles  and  had  come  to  the  branch  road  that 
led  to  Lurvey's  Mills,  they  felt  the  old  "  saloon  "  turn 
off  from  the  main  road.  With  sinking  hearts  they 
struggled  again  to  open  the  door,  until,  weak  and  ex- 
hausted, they  gave  up. 

Theodora  was  limp  with  terror  at  their  plight. 
Catherine,  more  resolute,  tried  to  encourage  her  com- 
panion; but  as  they  jogged  and  jolted  over  the  de- 
serted road  for  what  seemed  hours,  even  her  own 
courage  began  to  weaken. 

At  last  they  came  to  a  ford  that  led  across  a  muddy 
brook.  As  the  horse  entered  the  water,  the  forward 
end  of  the  rickety  old  "  saloon  "  pitched  sharply  down- 
ward. The  prop  that  had  held  the  door  fast  loosened 
and  the  door  flew  open ! 

Needless  to  say,  the  girls  lost  little  time  in  getting 
out  of  their  prison.  Before  the  "  saloon  "  had  topped 
the  other  bank,  they  jumped  out  and  ran  into  the  alder 
bushes  that  bordered  the  stream. 

Their  captor  was  evidently  not  aware  of  their  escape, 
for  the  "  saloon  "  kept  on  its  course.  As  soon  as  it 
was  out  of  sight  the  girls  waded  the  brook  and, 
hastening  back  to  the  fork  of  the  road,  took  the  home- 
ward trail. 

About  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  grandmother 
Ruth  heard  them  knocking  at  the  door.  They  were 
still  much  excited,  and  told  so  wild  and  curious  a 


178    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

story  of  their  adventure  that  after  breakfast  the  old 
Squire  and  Addison  drove  over  to  Lurvey's  Mills  to 
investigate. 

Almost  the  first  thing  they  saw  when  they  reached 
the  Mills  was  that  old  "  daguerreotype  saloon,"  stand- 
ing beside  the  road  near  the  post  office,  and  pottering 
about  it  a  large,  ungainly  man — a  hunchback  with  club 
feet. 

A  few  minutes'  conversation  with  him  cleared  up 
the  mystery.  This  was  the  first  he  had  heard  that  two 
girls  had  ridden  in  his  "  saloon  "  the  night  before! 
His  name,  he  told  them,  was  Duchaine,  and  he  said 
that  he  came  from  Lewiston,  Maine. 

"  Maybe  you've  heard  of  me,"  he  said  to  Addison, 
with  a  somewhat  painful  smile.  "  The  boys  down  there 
call  me  Big  Pumplefoot." 

Unable  to  do  ordinary  work,  he  had  learned  to  take 
ambrotypes  and  set  up  as  an  itinerant  photographer. 
But  ere  long  his  mother,  who  was  a  French  Canadian, 
had  gone  back  to  live  at  Megantic  in  the  Province  of 
Quebec;  and  in  June  the  year  before  he^set  off  to  visit 
her.  Thinking  that  he  might  find  customers  at  Megan- 
tic,  he  had  taken  his  "  saloon  "  along  with  him ;  but 
when  he  got  to  Dresser's  Lonesome  he  found  the  road 
so  much  obstructed  that  he  left  the  "  saloon  "  behind, 
and  went  on  with  his  horse  and  the  forward  wheels. 

An  accident  had  laid  him  up  at  Megantic  during  the 
winter  and  spring,  but  later  in  the  season  he  started  for 
Maine.  On  the  way  down  the  old  road  from  Canada 
he  got  belated,  and  had  not  reached  Dresser's  Lone- 
some with  his  horse  and  wheels  until  late  at  night ;  but 
as  there  was  no  place  where  he  could  put  up,  and  as  the 
moon  was  shining,  he  had  decided  to  hitch  up  to  his 
"  saloon  "  and  continue  on  his  way  to  the  Mills. 

Thus  the  mystery  was  cleared  up;  but  although 
the  explanation  was  simple  enough,  Theodora  and 
Catherine  were  little  inclined  to  laugh  over  their  ad- 
venture. 


CHAPTER   XXII 


THAT  was  the  year  noted  for  a  celestial  phe- 
nomenon of  great  interest  to  astronomers. 

We  were  taking  breakfast  rather  earlier  than 
usual  that  morning  in  August,  for  a  party  of  us  had 
planned  to  go  blackberrying  up  at  the  "  burnt  lots." 

Three  or  four  years  before,  forest  fires  had  burned 
over  a  large  tract  up  in  the  great  woods  to  the  north 
of  the  old  Squire's  farm.  We  had  heard  that  black- 
berries were  very  plentiful  there  that  season;  and  now 
that  haying  was  over,  Addison  and  I  had  planned  to 
drive  up  there  with  the  girls,  and  Catherine  and 
Thomas  Edwards,  who  wished  to  go  with  us. 

So  far  as  Addison  and  I  were  concerned,  the  trip 
was  not  wholly  for  blackberries;  we  had  another 
motive  for  going — one  that  we  were  keeping  a  pro- 
found secret.  One  afternoon  late  in  the  preceding  fall 
we  had  gone  up  there  to  shoot  partridges ;  and  Addi- 
son, who  was  much  interested  in  mineralogy,  had  come 
across  what  he  believed  to  be  silver  in  a  ledge. 

Every  one  knows  that  there  is  silver  in  Maine.  Not 
a  few  know  it  to  their  sorrow;  for  there  is  nothing 
more  discouraging  than  a  mine  that  yields  just  a  little 
less  than  enough  to  pay  running  expenses.  But  to  us 
boys  Addison's  discovery  suggested  the  possibilities  of 
vast  fortunes. 

Addison  felt  very  sure  that  it  was  silver,  but  we 
decided  to  say  nothing  to  any  one  until  we  were  certain. 
All  that  winter,  however,  we  cherished  rosy  hopes  of 
soon  being  wealthy.  At  the  first  opportunity  we  meant 
to  make  a  quiet  trip  up  there  with  hammer  and  drill  to 

179 


180    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

obtain  specimens  for  assay,  but  for  one  reason  or  an- 
other we  did  not  get  round  to  it  until  August,  when  we 
planned  the  blackberrying  excursion. 

While  we  were  at  the  breakfast  table  that  morning 
there  came  a  thundershower,  and  a  thundershower  in 
the  early  morning  is  unusual  in  Maine.  The  sun  had 
risen  clear,  but  a  black  cloud  rose  in  the  west,  the  sky 
darkened  suddenly,  and  so  heavy  a  shower  fell  that  at 
first  we  thought  we  should  have  to  give  up  the  trip. 

But  the  shower  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun, 
and  the  sun  shone  out  again.  Ellen,  who  had  gone  to 
the  pantry  for  something,  called  to  us  that  there  was  a 
bright  rainbow  in  the  northwest. 

"  Do  come  here  to  the  back  window !  "  she  cried. 
"It's  a  lovely  one!" 

Sure  enough,  there  was  a  vivid  rainbow ;  the  bright 
,arch  spanned  the  whole  northwestern  sky  over  the 
great  woods. 

"  Rainbow  in  the  morning, 
Good  sailors  take  warning," 

the  old  Squire  remarked,  smiling.  "  Better  take  your 
coats  and  umbrellas  with  you  to-day." 

We  did  not  know  then  how  many  times  during  that 
day  our  thoughts  would  go  back  to  the  rainbow  and 
the  old  superstition. 

After  breakfast  we  hitched  up  Old  Sol,  drove  round 
by  the  Edwardses'  to  pick  up  Tom  and  Kate,  and  from 
there  followed  the  lumber  road  into  the  great  woods, 
to  Otter  Brook.  The  "  burnt  lots  "  were  perhaps  a 
mile  beyond  the  brook. 

Addison  and  I  picked  blackberries  for  a  while  with 
the  others ;  then,  watching  our  chance,  we  stole  away 
and  made  for  the  ledges,  a  mile  or  two  to  the  northeast. 

I  had  managed  to  bring  a  drill  hammer  along  in  my 
basket,  wrapped  up  in  my  jacket;  and  Addison  had 
brought  a  short  drill  in  his  pocket.  We  found  the 
ledge  where  Addison  had  made  his  discovery  and  had 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    181 

no  great  trouble  in  chipping  off  some  specimens.  I  may 
add  here  that  the  specimens  later  proved  to  contain 
silver — in  small  quantities.  I  still  have  a  few  of  them 
— mementos  of  youthful  hopes  that  faded  early  in  the 
light  of  greater  knowledge. 

We  followed  the  ledges  off  to  the  northeast  over 
several  craggy  hills.  At  one  place  we  found  many 
exfoliating  lumps  of  mica;  we  cleaved  out  sheets  of  it 
nearly  a  foot  square,  which  Addison  believed  might 
prove  valuable  for  stove  doors. 

While  pottering  with  the  mica,  I  accidentally  broke 
into  a  kind  of  cavity,  or  pocket,  in  the  ledge,  partly 
filled  with  disintegrated  rock;  and  on  clearing  out  the 
loose  stuff  from  this  pocket  we  came  upon  a  beautiful 
three-sided  crystal  about  two  inches  long,  like  a  prism, 
green  in  color,  except  at  one  end,  where  it  shaded  to 
pink. 

It  was  a  tourmaline  crystal,  similar  to  certain  fine 
ones  that  have  been  found  some  miles  to  the  eastward, 
at  the  now  world-famous  Mount  Mica.  At  that  time 
we  did  not  know  what  it  was,  but,  thinking  that  it 
might  be  valuable,  we  searched  the  pocket  for  other 
crystals,  but  found  no  more. 

We  had  both  become  so  much  interested  in  search- 
ing for  minerals  that  we  had  quite  forgotten  our 
luncheon.  The  sky,  I  remember,  was  overcast  and  the 
sun  obscured ;  it  was  also  very  smoky  from  forest  fires, 
which  in  those  days  were  nearly  always  burning  some- 
where to  the  north  of  us  during  the  summer. 

But  presently,  as  Addison  was  thumping  away  with 
the  hammer,  I  noticed  that  it  was  growing  dark.  At 
first  I  thought  that  it  was  merely  a  darker  cloud  above 
the  smoke  that  had  drifted  over  the  sun,  and  said 
nothing;  but  the  sky  continued  to  darken,  and  soon 
Addison  noticed  it. 

"  Another  shower  coming,  I  guess,"  he  said,  looking 
up.  "  Don't  see  any  particular  clouds,  though.  I 
wonder  what  makes  it  so  dark  ?  " 


182    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

"  It  seems  just  like  night  coming  on,"  said  I.  "  But 
it  isn't  so  late  as  all  that,  is  it?  " 

"No!"  exclaimed  Addison.  "It  isn't  night  yet,  I 
know !  "  And  he  hastily  took  out  Theodora's  watch, 
which  she  had  intrusted  to  him  to  carry  that  day,  so 
that  we  should  know  when  to  start  for  home.  "  It's 
only  half  past  three,  and  the  sun  doesn't  set  now  till 
after  seven  o'clock." 

We  hammered  at  the  ledge  again  for  a  while;  but 
still  it  grew  darker. 

"  Well,  this  beats  me !  "  Addison  exclaimed ;  and 
again  he  surveyed  the  sky. 

"  That  watch  hasn't  stopped,  has  it  ?  "  I  said ;  for 
night  was  plainly  falling. 

Addison  hastily  looked  again. 

"  No,  it's  ticking  all  right,"  he  said.  "  Theodora's 
watch  never  stops,  you  know."  It  was  a  fine  watch 
that  her  father  had  left  to  her. 

By  that  time  it  was  so  dark  that  we  could  hardly  see 
the  hands  on  the  watch ;  and  although  the  day  had  been 
warm,  I  noticed  a  distinct  change  in  the  temperature — 
a  chill.  Somewhere  in  the  woods  an  owl  began  to  hoot 
dismally,  as  owls  do  at  night ;  and  from  a  ledge  a  little 
distance  from  the  one  on  which  we  stood  a  whippoor- 
will  began  to  chant. 

Night  was  evidently  descending  on  the  earth — at 
four  o'clock  of  an  August  afternoon!  We  stared 
round  and  then  looked  at  each  other,  bewildered. 

"  Addison,  what  do  you  make  of  this !  "  I  cried. 

Thoughts  of  that  rainbow  in  the  morning  had 
flashed  through  my  mind;  and  with  it  came  a  cold 
touch  of  superstitious  fear,  such  as  I  had  never  felt  in 
my  life  before.  In  that  moment  I  realized  what  the 
fears  of  the  ignorant  must  have  been  through  all  the 
past  ages  of  the  world.  It  is  a  fear  that  takes  away 
your  reason.  I  could  have  cried  out,  or  run,  or  done 
any  other  foolish  thing. 

Without  saying  a  word,  Addison  put  the  tourmaline 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    183 

crystal  into  his  pocket  and  picked  up  the  drill  and  the 
little  bundle  of  silver-ore  specimens,  which  to  carry  the 
more  easily  he  had  tied  up  in  his  handkerchief. 

"  Come  on,"  he  said  in  a  queer,  low  tone.  "  Let's  go 
find  Theodora  and  Nell.  I  guess  we'd  better  go  home 
— if  it's  coming  on  night  in  the  middle  of  the  after- 
noon." 

He  tried  to  laugh,  for  Addison  had  always  prided 
himself  on  being  free  from  all  superstition.  But  I  saw 
that  he  was  startled ;  and  he  admitted  afterwards  that 
he,  too,  had  remembered  about  that  rainbow  in  the 
morning,  and  had  also  thought  of  the  comet  that  had 
appeared  a  few  years  before  and  that  many  people 
believed  to  presage  the  end  of  the  world. 

We  started  to  run  back,  but  it  had  already  grown  so 
dark  that  we  had  to  pay  special  heed  to  our  steps.  We 
could  not  walk  fast.  To  this  day  I  remember  how 
strange  and  solemn  the  chanting  of  the  whippoorwills 
and  the  hoarse  skook!  of  the  nighthawks  sounded  to 
me.  No  doubt  I  was  frightened.  It  was  exactly  like 
evening ;  the  same  chill  was  in  the  air. 

At  last  we  reached  the  place  where  we  had  left  the 
others,  but  they  were  not  there.  Addison  called  to 
Theodora  and  Ellen  several  times  in  low,  suppressed 
tones;  I,  too,  felt  a  great  disinclination  to  shout  or 
speak  aloud. 

"  I  guess  they've  all  gone  back  where  we  left  the 
wagon,"  Addison  said  at  last. 

We  made  our  way  through  the  tangled  bushes,  brush 
and  woods,  down  to  Otter  Brook.  In  the  darkness  we 
went  a  little  astray  from  the  place  where  we  had  un- 
harnessed the  horse ;  but  presently,  as  we  were  moving 
about  in  the  brushwood,  we  heard  a  low  voice  say : 

"Is  that  you,  Ad?" 

It  was  Theodora;  and  immediately  we  came  upon 
them  all,  sitting  together  forlornly  there  in  the  wagon. 
They  had  hitched  up  Old  Sol  and  were  anxiously  wait- 
ing for  us  in  order  to  start  for  home.  The  strange 


184    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

phenomenon  seemed  to  have  dazed  them;  they  sat 
there  in  the  dark  as  silent  as  so  many  mice. 

"  Hello,  girls !  "  Addison  exclaimed.  "  Are  you  all 
there  ?  Quite  dark,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"Oh,  Ad,  what  do  you  think  this  is?"  Theodora 
asked,  still  in  the  same  hushed  voice. 

"  Well,  I  think  it  is  dark,"  replied  Addison,  trying  to 
appear  unconcerned. 

"  Don't  laugh,  Ad,"  said  Theodora  solemnly. 
"  Something  awful  has  happened." 

"  And  where  have  you  two  been  so  long?  "  asked 
Catherine.  "  We  thought  you  were  lost.  We  thought 
you  would  never  come.  What  time  is  it  ?  " 

We  struck  a  match  and  looked.  It  was  nearly  half 
past  four. 

"  Oh,  get  in,  Ad,  and  take  the  reins !  Let's  go 
home !  "  Ellen  pleaded. 

"  Yes,  Ad,  let's  go  home,  if  we  can  get  there,"  said 
Tom  Edwards.  "  What  d'ye  suppose  it  is,  anyhow?  " 

"Dark!"  exclaimed  Addison  hardily.  "  Just  plain 
dark ! " 

"  Oh,  Addison !  "  exclaimed  Theodora  reprovingly. 
"  Don't  try  to  joke  about  a  thing  like  this." 

"  It  may  be  the  end  of  the  world,"  Ellen  murmured. 

"  The  world  has  had  a  good  many  ends  to  it,"  said 
Addison.  "  Which  end  do  you  think  this  is,  Nell  ?  " 

But  neither  Ellen  nor  Theodora  cared  to  reply  to 
him.  Their  low,  frightened  voices  increased  my  un- 
easiness. I  could  think  of  nothing  except  that  rain- 
bow in  the  morning;  "  morning,"  "  warning,"  seemed 
to  ring  in  my  ears. 

We  climbed  into  the  wagon  and  started  homeward, 
but  it  was  so  dark  that  we  had  to  plod  along  slowly. 
Old  Sol  was  unusually  torpid,  as  if  the  ominous  ob- 
scurity had  dazed  him,  too.  After  a  time  he  stopped 
short  and  snorted;  we  heard  the  brush  crackle  and 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  large  animal  crossing  the  road 
ahead  of  us. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S     185 

"  That's  a  bear,"  Thomas  said.  "  Bears  are  out,  just 
as  if  it  were  night." 

Some  minutes  passed  before  we  could  make  Old  Sol 
go  on ;  and  again  we  heard  owls  hooting  in  the  woods. 

Long  before  we  got  down  to  the  cleared  land,  how- 
ever, the  sky  began  gradually  to  grow  lighter.  We  all 
noticed  it,  and  a  feeling  of  relief  stole  over  us.  In  the 
course  of  twenty  minutes  it  became  so  light  that  we 
could  discern  objects  round  us  quite  plainly.  The 
night  chill,  too,  seemed  to  go  from  the  air. 

Suddenly,  as  we  rattled  along,  Addison  jumped  up 
from  his  seat  and  turned  to  us.  "  I  know  now  what  this 
is !  "  he  cried.  "  Why  didn't  I  think  of  it  before?  " 

"  What  is  it — if  you  know  ?  "  cried  Catherine  and 
Theodora  at  once. 

"  The  eclipse !  The  total  eclipse  of  the  sun !  "  ex- 
claimed Addison.  "  I  remember  now  reading  some- 
thing about  it  in  the  Maine  Farmer  a  fortnight  ago. 
It  was  to  be  on  the  7th — and  this  is  it!  " 

At  that  time  advance  notices  of  such  phenomena 
were  not  so  widely  published  as  they  are  now;  at  the 
old  farm,  too,  we  did  not  take  a  daily  newspaper.  So 
one  of  the  great  astronomical  events  of  the  last  cen- 
tury had  come  and  gone,  and  we  had  not  known  what 
it  was  until  it  was  over. 

Except  for  the  dun  canopy  of  smoke  and  clouds  over 
the  sun  we  should  have  guessed  at  once,  of  course,  the 
cause  of  the  darkness;  but  as  it  was,  the  eclipse  had 
given  us  an  anxious  afternoon;  and  although  the  rain- 
bow in  the  morning  had  probably  not  the  slightest 
connection  with  the  eclipse, — indeed,  could  not  have 
had, — it  had  greatly  heightened  the  feeling  of  awe  and 
superstitious  dread  with  which  we  had  beheld  night 
fall  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon! 

By  the  time  we  got  home  it  was  light  again.  As  we 
drove  into  the  yard,  the  old  Squire  came  out,  smiling. 
"  Was  it  a  little  dark  up  where  you  were  blackberrying 
a  while  ago  ?  "  he  asked. 


186    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

"  Well,  just  a  little  dark,  sir,"  Addison  replied,  with 
a  smile  as  droll  as  his  own.  "  But  I  suppose  it  was  all 
because  of  that  rainbow  in  the  morning  that  you  told 
us  to  look  out  for." 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

WHEN    I    WENT   AFTER   THE   EYESTONE 

A  FEW  evenings  ago,  I  read  in  a  Boston  newspaper 
that,  as  the  result  of  a  close  contest,  Isaac  Kane 
Woodbridge  had  been  elected  mayor  of  one  of 
the  largest  and  most  progressive  cities  of  the  North- 
west. 

Little  Ike  Woodbridge !  Yes,  it  was  surely  he.  How 
strangely  events  work  round  in  this  world  of  ours! 
Memories  of  a  strange  adventure  that  befell  him  years 
ago  when  he  was  a  little  fellow  came  to  my  mind,  and 
I  thought  of  the  slender  thread  by  which  his  life  hung 
that  afternoon. 

The  selectmen  of  our  town  had  taken  Ike  Wood- 
bridge  from  the  poorhouse  and  "  bound  him  out  "  to  a 
farmer  named  Darius  Dole.  He  was  to  have  food, 
such  as  Dole  and  his  wife  ate,  ten  weeks'  schooling  a 
year,  and  if  he  did  well  and  remained  with  the  Doles 
until  he  was  of  legal  age,  a  "  liberty  suit "  of  new 
clothes  and  fifty  dollars. 

That  was  the  written  agreement ;  and  Farmer  Dole, 
who  was  a  severe,  hard-working  man,  began  early  to 
see  to  it  that  little  Ike  earned  all  that  came  to  him. 
The  boy,  who  was  a  little  over  seven  years  old,  had  to 
be  up  and  dressed  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  fetch 
wood  and  water  to  the  kitchen,  help  do  chores  at  the 
barn,  run  on  errands,  pull  weeds  in  the  garden,  spread 
the  hay  swathes  in  the  field  with  a  little  fork,  and  do 
a  hundred  other  things,  up  to  the  full  measure  of  his 
strength. 

The  neighbors  soon  began  to  say  that  little  Ike  was 
being  worked  too  hard.  When  the  old  Squire  was  one 

187 


188    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

of  the  selectmen,  he  remonstrated  with  Dole,  and 
wrung  a  promise  from  him  that  the  boy  should  have 
more  hours  for  sleep,  warmer  clothes  for  winter,  and 
three  playdays  a  year;  but  Dole  did  not  keep  his 
promise  very  strictly. 

The  fall  that  little  Ike  was  in  his  eighth  year,  the 
threshers,  as  we  called  the  men  who  journeyed  from 
farm  to  farm  to  thresh  the  grain,  came  to  the  old 
Squire's  as  usual.  While  my  cousin  Halstead  was 
helping  to  tend  the  machine,  he  got  a  bit  of  wheat 
beard  in  his  right  eye. 

First  Theodora,  then  Addison,  and  finally  the  old 
Squire,  tried  to  wipe  it  out  of  his  eye  with  a  silk  hand- 
kerchief ;  but  they  could  not  get  it  out,  and  by  the  next 
morning  Halstead  was  suffering  so  much  that  Addison 
went  to  summon  Doctor  Green  from  the  village,  six 
miles  away.  But  the  doctor  had  gone  to  Portland, 
and  Addison  came  back  without  him.  Meanwhile  a 
neighbor,  Mrs.  Wilbur,  suggested  putting  an  eyestone 
into  Halstead's  eye  to  get  out  the  irritating  substance. 
Mrs.  Wilbur  told  them  that  Prudent  Bedell,  a  queer 
old  fellow  who  lived  at  Lurvey's  Mills,  four  miles 
away,  had  an  eyestone  that  he  would  lend  to  any  one 
for  ten  cents. 

Bedell  was  generally  known  as  "  the  old  sin-smeller," 
because  he  pretended  to  be  able,  through  his  sense  of 
smell,  to  detect  a  criminal.  Indeed,  the  old  Squire  had 
once  employed  him  to  settle  a  dispute  for  some  super- 
stitious lumbermen  at  one  of  his  logging  camps. 

Anxious  to  try  anything  that  might  relieve  Hal- 
stead's  suffering,  the  old  Squire  sent  me  to  borrow  the 
eyestone.  Although  I  was  fourteen,  that  was  the  first 
time  I  had  ever  heard  of  an  eyestone ;  from  what  Mrs. 
Wilbur  had  said  about  it,  I  supposed  that  it  was  some- 
thing very  mysterious. 

"  It  will  creep  all  round,  inside  the  lid  of  his  eye," 
she  had  said,  "  and  find  the  dirt,  and  draw  it  along  to 
the  outer  corner  and  push  it  out." 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    189 

Physicians  and  oculists  still  have  some  faith  in  eye- 
stones,  I  believe,  although,  on  account  of  the  progress 
that  has  been  made  in  methods  of  treating  the  eye, 
they  are  not  as  much  in  use  as  formerly.  Most  eye- 
stones  are  a  calcareous  deposit,  found  in  the  shell  of 
the  common  European  crawfish.  They  are  frequently 
pale  yellow  or  light  gray  in  color. 

Usually  you  put  the  eyestone  under  the  eyelid  at  the 
inner  can  thus  of  the  eye,  and  the  automatic  action  of 
the  eye  moves  it  slowly  over  the  eyeball;  thus  it  is 
likely  to  carry  along  with  it  any  foreign  body  that  has 
accidentally  lodged  in  the  eye.  When  the  stone  has 
reached  the  outer  canthus  you  can  remove  it,  along 
with  any  foreign  substance  it  may  have  collected  on  its 
journey  over  the  eye. 

Halstead's  sufferings  had  aroused  my  sympathy,  and 
I  set  off  at  top  speed;  by  running  wherever  the  road 
was  not  uphill,  I  reached  Lurvey's  Mills  in  consider- 
ably less  than  an  hour.  Several  mill  hands  were  piling 
logs  by  the  stream  bank,  and  I  stopped  to  inquire  for 
Prudent  Bedell.  Resting  on  their  peavies,  the  men 
glanced  at  me  curiously. 

"D'ye  mean  the  old  sin-smeller?"  one  of  them 
asked  me.  "  What  is  it  you  want?  " 

"  I  want  to  borrow  his  eyestone,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,"  the  man  said,  "  he  lives  just  across  the 
bridge  yonder,  in  that  little  green  house." 

It  was  a  veritable  bandbox  of  a  house,  boarded, 
battened,  and  painted  bright  green;  the  door  was  a 
vivid  yellow.  In  response  to  my  knock,  a  short, 
elderly  man  opened  the  door.  His  hair  came  to  his 
shoulders;  he  wore  a  green  coat  and  bright  yellow 
trousers;  and  his  arms  were  so  long  that  his  large 
brown  hands  hung  down  almost  to  his  knees. 

It  was  his  nose,  however,  that  especially  caught  my 
attention,  for  it  was  tipped  back  almost  as  if  the  end 
had  been  cut  off.  I  am  afraid  I  stared  at  him. 

"  And  what  does  this  little  gentleman  want?"  he 


190    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

said  in  a  soft,  silky  voice  that  filled  me  with  fresh 
wonder. 

I  recalled  my  wits  sufficiently  to  ask  whether  he  had 
an  eyestone,  and  if  he  had,  whether  he  would  lend  it  to 
us.  Whereupon  in  the  same  soft  voice  he  told  me  that 
he  had  the  day  before  lent  his  eyestone  to  a  man  who 
lived  a  mile  or  more  from  the  mills. 

"  You  can  have  it  if  you  will  go  and  get  it,"  he 
said. 

I  paid  him  the  usual  fee  of  ten  cents,  and  turned  to 
hasten  away ;  but  he  called  me  back.  "  It  must  be  re- 
freshed," he  said. 

He  gave  me  a  little  glass  vial  half  full  of  some  liquid 
and  told  me  to  drop  the  eyestone  into  it  when  I  should 
get  it.  Before  using  the  eyestone  it  should  be  warmed 
in  warm  water,  he  said;  then  it  should  be  put  very 
gently  under  the  lid  at  the  corner  of  the  eye.  The  eye 
should  be  bandaged  with  a  handkerchief ;  and  it  was 
very  desirable,  he  said,  to  have  the  sufferer  lie  down, 
and  if  possible,  go  to  sleep. 

With  those  directions  in  mind,  I  hurried  away  in 
quest  of  the  eyestone;  but  at  the  house  of  the  man  to 
whom  Bedell  had  sent  me  I  found  that  the  eyestone 
had  done  its  work  and  had  already  been  lent  to  another 
.afflicted  household,  a  mile  away,  where  a  woman  had 
a  sty  in  her  eye.  At  that  place  I  overtook  it. 

The  woman,  whose  sty  had  been  cured,  opened  a 
drawer  and  took  out  the  eyestone,  carefully  wrapped 
in  a  piece  of  linen  cloth.  She  handled  it  gingerly,  and 
as  I  gazed  at  the  small  gray  piece  of  chalky  secretion, 
something  of  her  own  awe  of  it  communicated  itself 
to  me.  We  dropped  it  into  the  vial,  to  be  "  re- 
freshed " ;  and  then,  buttoning  it  safe  in  the  pocket  of 
my  coat,  I  -set  off  for  home.  Since  I  was  now  two  or 
three  miles  north  of  Lurvey's  Mills,  I  took  another  and 
shorter  road  than  that  by  which  I  had  come. 

As  it  chanced,  that  road  took  me  by  the  Dole  farm, 
where  little  Ike  lived.  I  saw  no  one  about  the  old.  un- 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    191 

painted  house  or  the  long,  weathered  barn,  which  with 
its  sheds  stood  alongside  the  road.  But  as  I  hurried 
by  I  heard  some  hogs  making  a  great  noise — appar- 
ently under  the  barn.  They  were  grunting,  squealing, 
and  "  barking  "  gruffly,  as  if  they  were  angry. 

As  I  stopped  for  an  instant  to  listen,  I  heard  a  low, 
faint  cry,  almost  a  moan,  which  seemed  to  come  from 
under  the  barn.  It  was  so  unmistakably  a  cry  of  dis- 
tress that,  in  spite  of  my  haste,  I  went  up  to-  the  barn 
door.  Again  I  heard  above  the  roars  of  the  hogs  that 
pitiful  cry.  The  great  door  of  the  barn  stood  partly 
open,  and  entering  the  dark,  evil-smelling  old  building, 
I  walked  slowly  along  toward  that  end  of  it  from 
which  the  sounds  came. 

Presently  I  came  upon  a  rickety  trapdoor,  which 
opened  into  the  hogpen ;  the  cover  of  the  trapdoor  was 
turned  askew  and  hung  down  into  the  dark  hole.  Be- 
side the  hole  lay  a  heap  of  freshly  pulled  turnips,  with 
the  green  tops  still  on  them. 

The  hogs  were  making  a  terrible  noise  below,  but 
above  their  squealing  I  heard  those  faint  moans. 

"Who's  down  there?"  I  called.  "What's  the 
matter?" 

From  the  dark,  foul  hole  there  came  up  the  plaintive 
voice  of  a  child.  "  Oh,  oh,  take  me  out !  The  hogs 
are  eating  me  up !  They've  bit  me  and  bit  me !  " 

It  was  little  Ike.  Dole  and  his  wife,  I  learned  later, 
had  gone  away  for  the  day  on  a  visit,  and  had  left  the 
boy  alone  to  do  the  chores — among  other  things  to 
feed  the  hogs  at  noon;  but  as  Ike  had  tugged  at  the 
heavy  trapdoor  to  raise  it,  he  had  slipped  and  fallen 
down  through  the  hole. 

The  four  gaunt,  savage  old  hogs  that  were  in  the  pen 
were  hungry  and  fierce.  Even  a  grown  person  would 
have  been  in  danger  from  the  beasts.  The  pen,  too, 
was  knee-deep  in  soft  muck  and  was  as  dark  as  a 
dungeon.  In  his  efforts  to  escape  the  hogs,  the  boy 
had  wallowed  round  in  the  muck.  The  hole  was  out 


192    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

of  his  reach,  and  the  sty  was  strongly  planked  up  to 
the  barn  floor  on  all  sides.  , 

At  last  he  had  got  hold  of  a  dirty  piece  of  broken 
board;  backing  into  one  corner  of  the  pen,  he  had 
tried,  as  the  hogs  came  "  barking  "  up  to  him,  to  de- 
fend himself  by  striking  them  on  their  noses.  They 
had  bitten  his  arms  and  almost  torn  his  clothes  off  him. 

The  little  fellow  had  been  in  the  pen  for  almost  two 
hours,  and  plainly  could  not  hold  out  much  longer. 
Prompt  action  was  necessary. 

At  first  I  was  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  reach  him. 
I  was  afraid  of  those  hogs  myself,  and  did  not  dare  to 
climb  down  into  the  pen.  I  could  see  their  ugly  little 
eyes  gleaming  in  the  dark,  as  they  roared  up  at  me. 
At  last  I  hit  upon  a  plan.  I  threw  the  turnips  down  to 
them;  then  I  got  an  axe  from  the  woodshed,  and 
hurried  round  by  way  of  the  cart  door  to  the  cellar. 
While  the  hogs  were  ravenously  devouring  the  turnips, 
I  chopped  a  hole  in  the  side  of  the  pen,  through  which 
I  pulled  out  little  Ike.  He  was  a  sorry  sight.  His  thin 
little  arms  were  bleeding  where  the  hogs  had  bitten 
him,  and  he  was  so  dirty  that  I  could  hardly  recognize 
him.  When  I  attempted  to  lead  him  out  of  the  cellar, 
he  tottered  and  fell  repeatedly. 

At  last  I  got  him  round  to  the  house  door — only  to 
find  it  locked.  Dole  and  his  wife  had  locked  up  the 
house  and  left  little  Ike's  dinner — a  piece  of  corn 
bread  and  some  cheese — in  a  tin  pail  on  the  doorstep ; 
the  cat  had  already  eaten  most  of  it.  I  had  intended 
to  take  him  indoors  and  wash  him,  for  he  was  in  a 
wretched  condition.  Finally  I  put  him  on  Dole's 
wheelbarrow,  which  I  found  by  the  door  of  the  shed, 
and  wheeled  him  to  the  nearest  neighbors,  the  Frosts, 
who  lived  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  Mrs.  Frost 
had  long  been  indignant  as  to  the  way  the  Doles  were 
treating  the  boy ;  she  gladly  took  him  in  and  cared  for 
him,  while  I  hurried  on  with  the  eyestone. 

I  reached  home  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    193 

and  the  old  Squire  thought  that,  in  view  of  my  errand, 
I  had  been  gone  an  unreasonably  long  time. 

Halstead's  eye  was  so  much  inflamed  that  we  had  no 
little  trouble  in  getting  the  eyestone  under  the  lid. 
Finally,  however,  the  old  Squire,  with  Addison's  help, 
slipped  it  in.  Halstead  cried  out,  but  the  old  Squire 
made  him  keep  his  eye  closed ;  then  the  old  gentleman 
bandaged  it,  and  made  him  lie  down. 

But  after  all,  I  am  unable  to  report  definitely  as  to 
the  efficacy  of  the  eyestone,  for  shortly  after  five 
o'clock,  when  the  stone  had  been  in  Halstead's  eye  a 
little  more  than  an  hour,  Doctor  Green  came.  He  had 
returned  on  the  afternoon  train  from  Portland,  and 
learning  that  we  had  sent  for  him  earlier  in  the  day, 
hurried  out  to  the  farm.  When  he  examined  Hal- 
stead's  eye,  he  found  the  eyestone  near  the  outer 
canthus,  and  near  it  the  irritating  bit  of  wheat  beard. 
He  removed  both  together.  Whether  or  not  the  eye- 
stone  had  started  the  piece  of  wheat  beard  moving  to- 
ward the  outer  corner  of  the  eye  was  doubtful;  but 
Doctor  Green  said,  laughingly,  that  we  could  give  the 
good  old  panacea  the  benefit  of  the  doubt. 

It  was  not  until  we  were  at  the  supper  table  that 
evening — with  Halstead  sitting  at  his  place,  his  eye 
still  bandaged — that  I  found  a  chance  to  explain  fully 
why  I  had  been  gone  so  long  on  my  errand. 

Theodora  and  grandmother  actually  shed  tears  over 
my  account  of  poor  little  Ike.  The  old  Squire  was  so 
indignant  at  the  treatment  the  boy  had  received  that 
he  set  off  early  the  next  morning  to  interview  the 
selectmen.  As  a  result,  they  took  little  Ike  from  the 
Doles  and  put  him  into  another  family,  the  Winslows, 
who  were  very  kind  to  him.  Mrs.  Winslow,  indeed, 
gave  him  a  mother's  care  and  affection. 

The  boy  soon  began  to  grow  properly.  Within  a 
year  you  would  hardly  have  recognized  him  as  the 
pinched  and  skinny  little  fellow  that  once  had  lived  at 
the  Dole  farm.  He  grew  in  mind  as  well  as  body,  and 


194    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

before  long  showed  so  much  promise  that  the  Wins- 
lows  sent  him  first  to  the  village  academy,  and  after- 
ward to  Westbrook  Seminary,  near  Portland.  When 
he  was  about  twenty-one  he  went  West  as  a  teacher; 
and  from  that  day  on  his  career  has  been  upward. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

BORROWED    FOR    A    BEE    HUNT 

WE  were  eating  breakfast  one  morning  late  in 
August  that  summer  when  through  an  open 
window  a  queer,  cracked  voice  addressed  the 
old  Squire: 

"  Don't  want  to  disturb  ye  at  your  meals,  Squire, 
but  I've  come  over  to  see  if  I  can't  borry  a  boy  to  hark 
fer  me." 

It  was  old  Hughy  Glinds,  who  lived  alone  in  a  little 
cabin  at  the  edge  of  the  great  woods,  and  who  gained 
a  livelihood  by  making  baskets  and  snowshoes.  lining 
bees  and  turning  oxbows.  In  his  younger  days  he  had 
been  a  noted  trapper,  bear  hunter  and  moose  hunter, 
but  now  he  was  too  infirm  and  rheumatic  to  take  long 
tramps  in  the  woods. 

The  old  Squire  went  to  the  door.  "  Come  in, 
Glinds,"  he  said. 

"  No,  Squire,  I  don't  believe  I  will  while  ye're  eatin'. 
I  jest  wanted  to  see  if  I  could  borry  one  of  yer  boys 
this  forenoon.  I've  got  a  swarm  of  bees  lined  over  to 
whar  the  old-growth  woods  begin,  and  if  I'm  to  git 
'em  I've  got  to  foller  my  line  on  amongst  tall  trees  and 
knock;  and  lately,  Squire,  I'm  gettin'  so  blamed  deaf 
I  snum  I  can't  hear  a  bee  buzz  if  he's  right  close  to  my 
head !  So  I  come  over  to  see  if  I  could  git  a  boy  to  go 
with  me  and  hark  when  I  knock  on  the  trees." 

"  Why,  yes,  Glinds,"  said  the  old  Squire,  "  one  of 
the  boys  may  go  with  you.  That  is,  he  may  if  he  wants 
to,"  he  added,  turning  to  us. 

Addison  said  that  he  had  something  else  he  wished 
to  do  that  forenoon.  Halstead  and  I  both  offered  our 

195 


196    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

services;  but  for  some  reason  old  Glinds  decided  that 
I  had  better  go.  Grandmother  Ruth  objected  at  first 
and  went  out  to  talk  with  the  old  fellow.  "  I'm  afraid 
you'll  let  him  get  stung  or  let  a  tree  fall  on  him !  "  she 
said. 

Old  Hughy  tried  to  reassure  her.  "  I'll  be  keerful  of 
him,  marm.  I  promise  ye,  marm,  the  boy  shan't  be 
hurt.  I'm  a-goin'  to  stifle  them  bees,  marm,  and  pull 
out  all  their  stingers."  And  the  old  man  laughed  up- 
roariously. 

Grandmother  Ruth  shook  her  head  doubtfully;  old 
Hughy's  reputation  for  care  and  strict  veracity  was 
not  of  the  best. 

When  I  went  to  get  ready  for  the  jaunt  grand- 
mother charged  me  to  be  cautious  and  not  to  go  into 
any  dangerous  places,  and  before  I  left  the  house  she 
gave  me  a  pair  of  gloves  and  an  old  green  veil  to 
protect  my  head. 

Before  starting  for  the  woods  we  had  to  go  to  old 
Hughy's  cabin  to  get  two  pails  for  carrying  the  honey 
and  a  kettle  and  a  roll  of  brimstone  for  "  stifling  "  the 
bees.  As  we  passed  the  Murch  farm  the  old  man  told 
me  that  he  had  tried  to  get  Willis,  who  stood  watching 
us  in  the  dooryard,  to  go  with  him  to  listen  for  the 
bees.  "  But  what  do  you  think ! "  he  exclaimed  with 
assumed  indignation.  "  That  covetous  little  whelp 
wouldn't  stir  a  step  to  help  me  unless  I'd  agree  to  give 
him  half  the  honey!  So  I  came  to  git  you,  for  of 
course  I  knowed  that  as  noble  a  boy  as  I've  heered  you 
be  wouldn't  act  so  pesky  covetous  as  that." 

Getting  the  tin  pails,  the  kettle  and  the  brimstone 
together  with  an  axe  and  a  compass  at  the  old  man's 
cabin,  we  went  out  across  the  fields  and  the  pastures 
north  of  the  Wilbur  farm  to  the  borders  of  the  woods 
through  which  old  Hughy  wanted  to  follow  the  bees. 

A  line  of  stakes  that  old  Hughy  had  set  up  across 
the  open  land  marked  the  direction  in  which  the  bees 
had  flown  to  the  forest.  After  taking  our  bearings 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    197 

from  them  by  compass  we  entered  the  woods  and  went 
on  from  one  large  tree  to  another.  Now  and  again  we 
came  to  an  old  tree  that  looked  as  if  it  were  hollow 
near  the  top.  On  every  such  tree  old  Hughy  knocked 
loudly  with  the  axe,  crying,  "  Hark,  boy !  Hark ! 
D'ye  hear  'em  ?  D'ye  see  any  come  out  up  thar  ?  "  At 
times  he  drew  forth  his  "  specs  "  and,  having  adjusted 
them,  peeped  and  peered  upward.  Like  his  ears,  the 
old  man's  eyes  were  becoming  too  defective  for  bee 
hunting. 

In  that  manner  we  went  on  for  at  least  a  mile,  until 
at  last  we  came  to  Swift  Brook,  a  turbulent  little 
stream  in  a  deep,  rocky  gully.  Our  course  led  across 
the  ravine,  and  while  we  were  hunting  for  an  easy 
place  to  descend  I  espied  bees  flying  in  and  out  of 
a  woodpecker's  hole  far  up  toward  the  broken  top  of  a 
partly  decayed  basswood  tree. 

"  Here  they  are !  "  I  shouted,  much  elated. 

Old  Hughy  couldn't  see  them  even  with  his  glasses 
on,  they  were  so  high  and  looked  so  small.  He  knocked 
on  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  and  when  I  told  him  that  I 
could  see  bees  pouring  out  and  distinctly  hear  the  hum 
of  those  in  the  tree  he  was  satisfied  that  I  had  made  no 
mistake. 

When  bee  hunters  trace  a  swarm  to  a  high  tree  they 
usually  fell  the  tree;  to  that  task  the  old  man  and  I 
now  set  ourselves.  The  basswood  was  fully  three  feet 
in  diameter,  and  leaned  slightly  toward  the  brook. 
In  spite  of  the  slant,  old  Hughy  thought  that  by  proper 
cutting  the  tree  could  be  made  to  fall  on  our  side  of  the 
gully  instead  of  across  it.  He  threw  off  his  old  coat 
and  set  to  work,  but  soon  stopped  short  and  began  rub- 
bing his  shoulder  and  groaning,  "  Oh,  my  rheumatiz, 
my  rheumatiz !  O-o-oh,  how  it  pains  me !  " 

That  may  have  been  partly  pretense,  intended  to 
make  me  take  the  axe ;  for  he  was  a  wily  old  fellow. 
However  that  may  be,  I  took  it  and  did  a  borrowed 
boy's  best  to  cut  the  scarfs  as  he  directed,  but  hardly 


198    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

succeeded.  I  toiled  a  long  time  and  blistered  my  palms. 

Basswood  is  not  a  hard  wood,  however,  and  at  last 
the  tree  started  to  fall ;  but  instead  of  coming  down  on 
our  side  of  the  gully  it  fell  diagonally  across  it  and  / 
crashed  into  the  top  of  a  great  hemlock  that  stood  near 
the  stream  below.  The  impact  was  so  tremendous  that 
many  of  the  brittle  branches  of  both  trees  were  broken 
off.  At  first  we  thought  that  the  basswood  was  going 
to  break  clear,  but  it  finally  hung  precariously  against 
the  hemlock  at  a  height  of  thirty  feet  or  more  above 
the  bed  of  the  brook.  From  the  stump  the  long  trunk 
extended  out  across  the  brook  in  a  gentle,  upward  slant 
to  the  hemlock.  The  bees  came  out  in  force.  Though 
in  felling  the  tree  I  had  disturbed  them  considerably, 
none  of  them  had  come  down  to  sting  us,  but  now  they 
filled  the  air.  Apparently  the  swarm  was  a  large  one. 

Old  Hughy  was  a  good  deal  disappointed.  "  I  snum, 
that  'ere's  a  bad  mess,"  he  grumbled. 

At  last  he  concluded  that  we  should  have  to  fell  the 
hemlock.  Judging  from  the  ticklish  way  the  bass- 
wood  hung  on  it,  the  task  looked  dangerous.  We 
climbed  down  into  the  gully,  however,  and,  with  many 
an  apprehensive  glance  aloft  where  the  top  of  the  bass- 
wood  hung  threateningly  over  our  heads,  approached 
the  foot  of  the  hemlock  and  began  to  chop  it.  The 
bees  immediately  descended  about  our  heads.  Soon 
one  of  them  stung  old  Hughy  on  the  ear.  We  had  to 
beat  a  retreat  down  the  gully  and  wait  for  the  enraged 
insects  to  go  back  into  their  nest. 

The  hole  they  went  into  was  in  plain  sight  and  ap- 
peared to  be  the  only  entrance  to  the  cavity  in  which 
they  had  stored  their  honey.  It  was  a  round  hole  and 
did  not  look  more  than  two  inches  in  diameter.  While 
we  waited  for  the  bees  to  return  to  it  old  Hughy,  still 
rubbing  his  sore  ear,  changed  his  plan  of  attack. 

"  We've  got  to  shet  the  stingin'  varmints  in !  "  he 
exclaimed.  "  One  of  us  has  got  to  walk  out  with  a 
plug,  'long  that  'ere  tree  trunk,  and  stop  'em  in." 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    199 

We  climbed  back  up  the  side  of  the  gully  to  the 
stump  of  the  basswood.  There  the  old  man,  taking  out 
his  knife,  whittled  a  plug  and  wrapped  round  it  his  old 
red  handkerchief. 

"  Now  this  'ere  has  got  to  be  stuck  in  that  thar 
hole,"  he  said,  glancing  first  along  the  log  that  pro- 
jected out  over  the  gully  and  then  at  me.  "  When  I 
was  a  boy  o'  your  age  I'd  wanted  no  better  fun  than  to 
walk  out  on  that  log ;  but  my  old  head  is  gittin'  a  leetle 
giddy.  So  I  guess  you'd  better  go  and  stick  in  this  'ere 
plug.  A  smart  boy  like  you  can  do  it  jest  as  easy  as 
not." 

"  But  I  am  afraid  the  bees  will  sting  me !  "  I  ob- 
jected. 

"  Oh,  you  can  put  on  them  gloves  and  tie  that  'ere 
veil  over  your  head,"  the  old  man  said.  "  I'll  tie  it  on 
ferye." 

I  had  misgivings,  but,  not  liking  to  fail  old  Hughy 
at  a  pinch,  I  let  him  rig  me  up  for  the  feat  and  at  last, 
taking  the  plug,  started  to  walk  up  the  slightly  inclined 
tree  trunk  to  the  woodpecker's  hole,  which  was  close 
to  the  point  where  the  basswood  rested  against  the 
hemlock.  I  found  it  was  not  hard  to  walk  up  the 
sloping  trunk  if  I  did  not  look  down  into  the  gully. 
With  stray  bees  whizzing  round  me,  I  slowly  took  one 
step  after  another.  Once  I  felt  the  trunk  settle  slightly, 
and  I  almost  decided  to  go  back ;  but  finally  I  went  on 
and,  reaching  the  hole,  grasped  a  strong,  green  limb  of 
the  hemlock  to  steady  myself.  Then  I  inserted  the 
plug,  which  fitted  pretty  well,  and  drove  it  in  with  the 
heel  of  my  boot. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  jar  of  the  blow,  perhaps  it  was 
my  added  weight,  but  almost  instantly  I  felt  the  trunk 
slip  again — and  then  down  into  the  gully  it  went  with 
a  crash ! 

Luckily  I  still  had  hold  of  the  hemlock  limb  and 
clung  to  it  instinctively.  For  a  moment  I  dangled 
there;  then  with  a  few  convulsive  efforts  I  succeeded 


200    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

in  drawing  myself  to  the  trunk  of  the  hemlock  and 
getting  my  feet  on  a  limb.  Breathless,  I  now  glanced 
downward  and  was  terrified  to  see  that  in  falling  the 
basswood  had  carried  away  the  lower  branches  of  the 
hemlock  and  left  no  means  of  climbing  down.  If  the 
trunk  of  the  hemlock  had  been  smaller  I  could  have 
clasped  my  arms  about  it  and  slid  down ;  but  it  was  far 
too  big  round  for  that.  In  fact,  to  get  down  unassisted 
was  impossible,  and  I  was  badly  frightened.  I  suppose 
I  was  perched  not  more  than  thirty-five  feet  above  the 
ground;  but  to  me,  glancing  fearfully  down  on  the 
rocks  in  the  bed  of  the  brook,  the  distance  looked  a 
hundred ! 

Moreover,  the  trunk  of  the  basswood  had  split  open 
when  it  struck,  and  all  the  bees  were  out.  Clouds  of 
them,  rising  as  high  as  my  legs,  began  paying  their 
respects  to  me  as  the  cause  of  their  trouble.  Luckily 
the  veil  kept  them  from  my  face  and  neck. 

I  could  see  old  Hughy  on  the  brink  of  the  gully, 
staring  across  at  me,  open-mouthed,  and  in  my  alarm 
I  called  aloud  to  him  to  rescue  me.  He  did  not  reply 
and  seemed  at  a  loss  what  to  do. 

I  had  started  to  climb  higher  into  the  shaggy  top  of 
the  hemlock,  to  avoid  the  bees,  when  I  heard  some  one 
call  out,  "  Hello !  "  The  voice  sounded  familiar  and, 
glancing  across  the  gully,  I  saw  Willis  Murch  coming 
through  the  woods.  Seeing  us  pass  his  house  and 
knowing  what  we  were  in  quest  of,  Willis,  curious  to 
know  what  success  we  would  have,  had  followed  us. 
He  had  lost  track  of  us  in  the  woods  for  a  time,  but 
had  finally  heard  the  basswood  fall  and  then  had 
found  us. 

Even  at  that  distance  across  the  gully  I  saw  Willis's 
face  break  into  a  grin  when  he  saw  me  perched  in  the 
hemlock.  For  the  present,  however,  I  was  too  much 
worried  to  be  proud  and  implored  his  aid.  He  looked 
round  a  while,  exchanged  a  few  words  with  old  Hughy 
and  then  hailed  me. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    201 

"  I  guess  we  shall  have  to  fell  that  hemlock  to  get 
you  down,"  he  shouted,  laughing. 

Naturally,  I  did  not  want  that  done. 

"  I  shall  have  to  go  home  for  a  long  rope,"  he  went 
on,  becoming  serious.  "If  we  can  get  the  end  of  a 
rope  up  there,  you  can  tie  it  to  a  limb  and  then  come 
down  hand  over  hand.  But  I  don't  think  our  folks 
have  a  rope  long  enough ;  I  may  have  to  go  round  to 
the  old  Squire's  for  one," 

Since  old  Hughy  had  no  better  plan  to  suggest, 
Willis  set  off  on  the  run.  As  the  distance  was  fully 
two  miles,  I  had  a  long  wait  before  me,  and  so*  I  made 
myself  as  comfortable  as  I  could  on  the  limb  and 
settled  down  to  wait. 

Old  Hughy  hobbled  down  into  the  gully  with  his 
kettle  and  tried  to  smother  the  bees  by  putting  the 
brimstone  close  to  the  cleft  in  the  tree  trunk  and  set- 
ting it  afire ;  but,  although  the  fumes  rose  so  pungently 
that  I  was  obliged  to  hold  my  nose  to  keep  from  being 
smothered,  the  effect  on  the  bees  was  not  noticeable. 
Old  Hughy  then  tried  throwing  water  on  them.  The 
water  was  more  efficacious  than  the  brimstone,  and  be- 
fore Willis  returned  the  old  man  was  able  to  cut  out  a 
section  of  the  tree  trunk  and  fill  his  two  pails  with  the 
dripping  combs — all  of  which  I  viewed  not  any  too 
happily  from  aloft. 

Willis  appeared  at  last  with  the  coil  of  rope.  With 
him  came  Addison  and  Halstead,  much  out  of  breath, 
and  a  few  minutes  later  the  old  Squire  himself  arrived. 
They  said  that  grandmother  Ruth  also  was  on  the 
way.  Willis,  it  seems,  had  spread  alarming  reports  of 
my  predicament. 

Willis  and  Addison  tied  numerous  knots  in  the  rope 
so  that  it  should  not  slip  through  my  hands  and 
knotted  a  flat  stone  into  the  end  of  it.  Then  they  took 
turns  in  throwing  it  up  toward  me  until  at  length  I 
caught  it  and  tied  it  firmly  to  the  limb  on  which  I  was 
sitting.  Then  I  ventured  to  trust  my  weight  to  it  and 


202    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

amid  much  laughter  but  without  any  difficulty  lowered 
myself  to  the  ground. 

In  fact,  I  was  not  exactly  the  hero.  The  hero,  I 
think,  was  Willis.  But  for  his  appearance  I  hardly 
know  how  I  should  have  fared. 

Old  Hughy,  I  remember,  was  rather  loath  to  share 
the  honey  with  us;  but  we  all  took  enough  to  satisfy 
us.  The  old  man,  indeed,  was  hardly  the  hero  of  the 
occasion  either — a  fact  that  he  became  aware  of  when 
on  our  way  home  we  met  grandmother  Ruth,  anxious 
and  red  in  the  face  from  her  long  walk.  She  expressed 
herself  to  him  with  great  frankness.  "  Didn't  you 
promise  to  be  careful  where  you  sent  that  boy !  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  Hugh  Glinds,  you  are  a  palavering  old 
humbug ! " 

Old  Hughy  had  little  enough  to  say ;  but  he  tried  to 
smooth  matters  over  by  offering  her  a  piece  of  honey- 
comb. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  she.  "  I  want  none  of  your  honey !  " 

All  that  the  old  Squire  had  said  when  he  saw  me  up 
in  the  hemlock  was,  "Be  calm,  my  son ;  you  will  get 
down  safe."  And  when  they  threw  the  rope  up  to  me 
he  added,  "  Now,  first  tie  a  square  knot  and  then  take 
good  hold  of  the  rope  with  both  hands." 


CHAPTER    XXV 

WHEN    THE   LION    ROARED 

A""  daybreak  on  September  26,  if  I  remember  aright, 
we  started  to  drive  from  the  old  farm  to  Port- 
land with  eighteen  live  hogs.  There  was  a  crisp 
frost  that  morning,  so  white  that  till  the  sun  rose  you 
might  have  thought  there  had  been  a  slight  fall  of 
snow  in  the  night. 

We  put  eight  of  the  largest  hogs  into  one  long  farm 
wagon  with  high  sideboards,  drawn  by  a  span  of  Per- 
cheron  work  horses,  which  I  drove;  the  ten  smaller 
hogs  we  put  into  another  wagon  that  Willis  Murch 
drove.  By  making  an  early  start  we  hoped  to  cover 
forty  miles  of  our  journey  before  sundown,  pass  the 
night  at  a  tavern  in  the  town  of  Gray  where  the  old 
Squire  was  acquainted,  and  reach  Portland  the  next 
noon.  Since  we  wished  to  avoid  unloading  the  hogs, 
we  took  dry  corn  and  troughs  for  feeding  them  in  the 
wagons  and  buckets  for  fetching  water  to  them.  The 
old  Squire  went  along  with  us  for  the  first  fifteen 
miles  to  see  us  well  on  our  way,  then  left  us  and 
walked  to  a  railroad  station  a  mile  or  two  off  the 
wagon  road,  where  he  took  the  morning  train  into 
Portland,  in  order  to  make  arrangements  for  market- 
ing the  hogs. 

Everything  went  well  during  the  morning,  although 
the  hogs  diffused  a  bad  odor  along  the  highway.  To- 
ward noon  we  stopped  by  the  wayside,  near  the  Upper 
Village  of  the  'New  Gloucester  Shakers,  to  rest  and 
feed  the  horses,  and  to  give  the  hogs  water.  About 
one  o'clock  we  went  on  down  the  hill  to  Sabbath  Day 
Pond  and  into  the  woods  beyond  it.  The  loads  were 

203 


204    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

heavy  and  the  horses  were  plodding  on  slowly,  when, 
just  round  a  turn  of  the  road  in  the  woods  ahead,  we 
heard  a  deep,  awful  sound,  like  nothing  that  had  ever 
come  to  our  ears  before.  For  an  instant  I  thought  it 
was  thunder,  it  rumbled  so  portentously:  Hough- 
hough — hough — hough-er-er-er-er-hhh!  It  reverber- 
ated through  the  woods  till  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
earth  actually  trembled. 

Willis's  horses  stopped  short.  Willis  himself  rose 
to  his  feet,  and  it  seemed  to  me  his  cap  rose  up  on  his 
head.  Other  indistinct  sounds  also  came  to  our  ears 
from  along  the  road  ahead,  though  nothing  was  as  yet 
in  sight.  Then  again  that  awful,  prolonged  Hough — 
hough — hough!  broke  forth. 

Close  by,  lumbermen  had  been  hauling  timber  from 
the  forest  into  the  highway  and  had  made  a  distinct 
trail  across  the  road  ditch.  While  Willis  stood  up, 
staring,  the  horses  suddenly  whirled  half  round  and 
bolted  for  the  lumber  trail,  hogs  and  all.  They  did  it 
so  abruptly  that  Willis  had  no  time  to  control  them, 
and  when  the  wagon  went  across  the  ditch,  he  was 
pitched  off  headlong  into  the  brush.  Before  I  could 
set  my  feet,  my  span  followed  them  across  the  ditch ; 
but  I  managed  to  rein  them  up  to  a  tree  trunk,  which 
the  wagon  tongue  struck  heavily.  There  I  held  them, 
though  they  still  plunged  and  snorted  in  their  terror. 

Willis's  team  was  running  away  along  the  lumber 
trail,  but  before  it  had  gone  fifty  yards  we  heard  a 
crash,  and  then  a  horrible  squealing.  The  wagon  had 
gone  over  a  log  or  a  stump  and,  upsetting,  had  spilled 
all  ten  hogs  into  the  brushwood. 

Willis  now  jumped  to  his  feet  and  ran  to  help  me 
master  my  team,  which  was  still  plunging  violently, 
and  I  kept  it  headed  to  the  tree  while  he  got  the  halters 
and  tied  the  horses.  Just  then  we  heard  that  terrible 
Hough — hough!  again,  nearer  now.  Looking  out  to- 
ward the  road,  we  saw  four  teams  dragging  large, 
gaudily  painted  cages  that  contained  animals.  The 


4. 


WHEN    THE    LION    ROARED 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    205 

drivers,  who  wore  a  kind  of  red  uniform,  pulled  up 
and  sat  looking  in  our  direction,  laughing  and  shout- 
ing derisively.  That  exasperated  us  so  greatly  that, 
checking  our  first  impulse  to  run  in  pursuit  of  the 
horses  and  hogs,  we  rushed  to  the  road  to  remonstrate. 

It  was  not  a  full-fledged  circus  and  menagerie,  but 
merely  a  show  on  its  way  from  one  county  fair  to  an- 
other. In  one  cage  there  was  a  boa  constrictor,  un- 
truthfully advertised  to  be  thirty  feet  long,  which  a 
Fat  Lady  exhibited  at  each  performance,  the  monster 
coiled  round  her  neck.  In  another  cage  were  six  per- 
forming monkeys  and  four  educated  dogs. 

When  we  saw  them  that  day  on  the  road,  the 
Fat  Lady,  said  to  weigh  four  hundred  pounds,  was 
journeying  in  a  double-seated  carriage  behind  the 
cages.  Squeezed  on  the  seat  beside  her,  rode  a  queer- 
looking  little  old  man,  with  a  long  white  beard,  whose 
specialty  was  to  eat  glass  tumblers,  or  at  least  chew 
them  up.  He  also  fought  on  his  hands  and  knees  with 
one  of  the  dogs.  His  barking,  growling  and  worrying 
were  so  true  to  life  that  the  spectators  could  scarcely 
tell  which  was  the  dog  and  which  the  man.  On  the 
back  seat  was  a  gypsy  fortune  teller  and  a  Wild  Man, 
alleged  to  hail  from  the  jungles  of  Borneo  and  to  be  so 
dangerous  that  two  armed  keepers  had  to  guard  him 
in  order  to  prevent  him  from  destroying  the  local 
population.  As  we  first  saw  him,  divested  of  his 
"  get-up,"  he  looked  tame  enough.  He  was  conversing 
sociably  with  the  gypsy  fortune  teller. 

But  for  the  moment  our  attention  and  our  indigna- 
tion were  directed  mainly  at  the  lion.  He  was  not  such 
a  very  large  lion,  but  he  certainly  had  a  full-sized  roar, 
and  the  driver  of  the  cage  sat  and  grinned  at  us. 

'  You've  no  right  to  be  on  the  road  with  a  lion  roar- 
ing like  that!  "  Willis  shouted  severely. 

"  Wai,  young  feller,  you've  no  right  to  be  on  the 
road  with  such  a  hog  smell  as  that !  "  the  driver  re- 
torted. "  Our  lion  is  the  best-behaved  in  the  world ;  he 


206    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

wouldn't  ha'  roared  ef  he  hadn't  smelt  them  hogs  so 
strong." 

"  But  you  have  damaged  us !  "  I  cried.  "  Our  horses 
have  run  away  and  smashed  things!  You'll  have  to 
pay  for  this !  " 

Another  man,  who  appeared  to  be  the  proprietor, 
now  came  from  a  wagon  in  the  rear  of  the  cavalcade. 

"  What's  that  about  damages?  "  he  cried.  "  I'll  pay 
nothing !  I  have  a  permit  to  travel  on  the  highway !  " 

'  You  have  no  right  to  scare  horses !  "  Willis  re- 
torted. "  Your  lion  made  a  horrible  noise." 

"His  noise  wasn't  worse  than  your  hog  stench!" 
the  showman  rejoined  hotly.  "  My  lion  has  as  good  a 
right  to  roar  as  your  hogs  have  to  squeal.  Drive  on !  " 
he  shouted  to  his  drivers. 

The  show  moved  forward.  The  Fat  Lady  looked 
back  and  laughed,  and  the  Wild  Man  pretended  to 
squeal  like  a  pig;  but  the  gypsy  fortune  teller  smiled 
and  said,  "Too  bad!" 

Having  got  no  satisfaction,  we  returned  hastily  to 
chase  our  runaway  team.  We  came  upon  it  less  than  a 
hundred  yards  away,  jammed  fast  between  two  pine 
trees.  Parts  of  the  harness  were  broken,  the  wagon 
body  was  shattered,  and  ten  hogs  were  at  large. 

For  some  minutes  we  were  at  a  loss  to  know  what 
to  do.  How  to  catch  the  hogs  and  put  them  back  into 
the  wagon  was  a  difficult  matter,  for  many  of  them 
weighed  three  hundred  pounds,  and  moreover  a  live 
hog  is  a  disagreeable  animal  to  lay  hands  on.  But, 
taking  an  axe,  we  cut  young  pine  trees  and  constructed 
a  fence  round  the  wagon  to  serve  as  a  hogpen.  Leav- 
ing a  gap  at  one  end  that  could  be  stopped  when  the 
hogs  were  inside,  we  then  set  near  the  wagon  the 
troughs  we  had  brought,  poured  the  dry  corn  into 
them  and  called  the  hogs  as  if  it  were  feeding  time. 
Most  of  them,  it  seemed,  were  not  far  away.  As  soon 
as  they  heard  the  corn  rattling  into  the  troughs  all  ex- 
cept three  came  crowding  in.  Presently  we  drove  two 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    207 

of  the  missing  ones  to  the  pen,  but  one  we  could  not 
find. 

None  of  the  wagon  wheels  was  broken,  and  in  the 
course  of  an  hour  or  two,  Willis  and  I  succeeded  in 
patching  up  the  shattered  body  sufficiently  to  hold  the 
hogs.  But  how  to  get  the  heavy  brutes  off  the  ground 
and  up  into  the  wagon  was  a  task  beyond  our  re- 
sources. When  you  try  to  take  a  live  hog  off  its  feet, 
he  is  likely  to  bite  as  well  as  to  squeal.  We  had  no 
tackle  for  lifting  them. 

At  last  Willis  set  off  to  get  help.  He  was  gone  till 
dusk  and  came  back  without  any  one ;  but  he  had  per- 
suaded two  Shakers  to  come  and  help  us  early  the  next 
morning — they  could  not  come  that  night  on  account 
of  their  evening  prayer  meeting.  One  of  the  Shaker 
women  had  sent  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  piggin  half  full 
of  Shaker  apple  sauce  to  us. 

The  lantern  and  bucket  that  went  with  Willis's 
wagon  had  been  smashed;  but  I  had  a  similar  outfit 
with  mine.  So  we  tied  the  horses  to  trees  near  our 
improvised  hog  pound,  and  fed  and  blanketed  them  by 
lantern  light.  Afterwards  we  brought  water  for  them 
from  a  brook  not  far  away. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  before  we  were  ready  to  eat  our 
own  supper  of  bread  and  Shaker  apple  sauce.  The 
night  was  chilly ;  our  lantern  went  out  for  lack  of  oil ; 
we  had  only  light  overcoats  for  covering;  and  as  we 
had  used  our  last  two  matches  in  lighting  the  lantern, 
we  could  not  kindle  a  fire. 

The  night  was  so  cold  that  we  frequently  had  to 
jump  up  and  run  round  to  get  warm.  We  slept 
scarcely  at  all.  The  hogs  squealed.  They,  too,  were 
cold  as  well  as  hungry,  and  toward  morning  they 
quarreled,  bit  one  another  and  made  piercing  outcries. 

"  Oh,  don't  I  wish  'twas  morning ! "  Willis  ex- 
claimed again  and  again. 

Fortunately,  the  Shakers  were  early  risers,  and  long 
before  sunrise  three  of  them,  clad  in  gray  homespun 


208    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

frocks    and    broad-brimmed    hats,    appeared.      They 
greeted  us  solemnly. 

"  Thee  has  met  with  trouble/'  said  one  of  them, 
who  was  the  elder  of  the  village.  "  But  I  think  we  can 
give  thee  aid." 

They  proved  to  be  past  masters  at  handling  hogs. 
From  one  of  the  halters  they  contrived  a  muzzle  to 
prevent  the  hogs  from  biting  us,  and  then  with  their 
help  we  caught  and  muzzled  the  hogs  one  by  one  and 
boosted  them  into  the  wagon.  The  good  men  stayed 
by  us  till  the  horses  were  hitched  up  and  we  were  out 
of  the  woods  and  on  the  highway  again.  I  had  a  little 
money  with  me  and  offered  to  pay  them  for  their  kind 
services,  but  the  elder  said: 

"  Nay,  friend,  thee  has  had  trouble  enough  already 
with  the  lion."  And  at  parting  all  three  said  "  Fare 
thee  well  "  very  gravely. 

We  fared  on,  but  not  altogether  well,  for  those 
hungry  hogs  were  now  making  a  terrible  uproar.  We 
drove  as  far  as  Gray  Corners,  where  there  was  a 
country  store,  and  there  I  bought  a  bushel  of  oats  for 
the  horses  and  a  hundred-pound  bag  of  corn  for  the 
hogs.  The  hogs  were  so  ravenous  that  it  was  hard  to 
be  sure  that  each  got  his  proper  share ;  but  we  did  the 
best  we  could  and  somewhat  reduced  their  squealing. 

The  hastily  repaired  wagon  body  had  also  given  us 
trouble,  for  it  had  threatened  to  shake  to  pieces  as  it 
jolted  over  the  frozen  ruts  of  the  road;  but  we  bought 
a  pound  of  nails,  borrowed  a  hammer  and  set  to  work 
to  repair  it  better,  with  the  hogs  still  aboard — much  to 
the  amusement  of  a  crowd  of  boys  who  had  collected. 
It  was  almost  noon  when  we  left  Gray  Corners,  and  it 
was  after  three  o'clock  before  we  reached  Westbrook, 
five  miles  out  of  Portland.  Here  whom  should  we  see 
but  the  old  Squire,  who,  growing  anxious  over  our 
failure  to  appear,  had  driven  out  to  meet  us.  He  could 
not  help  smiling  when  he  heard  Willis's  indignant  ac- 
count of  what  had  delayed  us. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    209 

He  thought  it  likely  that  we  could  recover  the 
missing  hog,  and  that  evening  he  inserted  a  notice  of 
the  loss  in  the  Eastern  Argus.  But  nothing  came  of 
the  notice  or  of  the  many  inquiries  that  we  made  on 
our  way  home  the  next  day.  The  animal  had  wandered 
off,  and  whoever  captured  it  apparently  kept  quiet. 
Instead  of  blaming  us,  however,  the  old  Squire  praised 
us. 

'*  You  did  well,  boys,  in  trying  circumstances,"  he 
said.  "  You  do  not  meet  a  lion  every  day." 

After  what  had  happened,  Willis  and  I  felt  much 
interest  the  following  week  in  seeing  the  show  that  had 
discomfited  us.  It  had  established  itself  at  the  county 
fair  in  its  big  tent  and  apparently  was  doing  a  rushing 
business.  Buying  admission  tickets,  Willis  and  I  went 
in  and  approached  the  lion's  cage  for  a  nearer  view  of 
the  king  of  beasts.  We  hoped  he  would  spring  up  and 
roar  as  he  had  done  in  the  woods  below  the  Shaker 
village;  but  he  kept  quiet.  After  all,  he  did  not  look 
very  formidable,  and  he  seemed  sadly  oppressed  and 
bored. 

I  think  the  proprietor  of  the  show  recognized  us, 
for  we  saw  him  regarding  us  suspiciously;  and  we 
moved  on  to  the  cage  in  which  the  Wild  Man  sat,  with 
a  big  brass  chain  attached  to  his  leg — ostensibly  to 
prevent  him  from  running  amuck  among  the  spec- 
tators. Two  of  his  keepers  were  guarding  him,  with 
axes  in  their  hands.  He  was  loosely  arrayed  in  a 
tiger's  skin,  and  his  limbs  appeared  to  be  very  hairy. 
His  skin  was  dark  brown  and  rough  with  warts.  His 
hair,  which  was  really  a  wig,  hung  in  tangled  snarls 
over  his  eyes.  He  gnashed  his  teeth,  clenched  his  fists, 
and  every  few  moments  he  uttered  a  terrific  yell  at 
which  timid  patrons  of  the  show  promptly  retired  to 
the  far  side  of  the  tent. 

When  Willis  and  I  approached  the  cage,  a  smile 
suddenly  broke  across  the  Wild  Man's  face,  and  he 
nodded  to  us.  "  You  were  the  fellows  with  the  hogs, 


210    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

weren't  you  ?  "  he  said  in  very  good  English.     I  can 
hardly  describe  what  a  shock  that  gave  us. 

"  Why,  why — aren't  you  from  the  wilds  of  Bor- 
neo ?  "  Willis  asked  him  in  low  tones. 

"  Thunder,  no !  "  the  Wild  Man  replied  confiden- 
tially. "  I  don't  even  know  where  it  is.  I'm  from  over 
in  Vermont — Bellows  Falls." 

"But — but — you  do  look  pretty  savage!"  stam- 
mered Willis  in  much  astonishment. 

'You  bet!"  said  the  Wild  Man.  "Ain't  this  a 
dandy  rig  ?  It  gets  'em,  too.  But  don't  give  me  away ; 
I  get  a  good  living  out  of  this." 

Just  then  a  group  of  spectators  came  crowding  for- 
ward, and  the  Wild  Man  let  out  a  howl  that  brought 
them  to  an  appalled  halt.  The  keepers  brandished 
their  axes. 

"  Well,  did  you  ever  ?  "  Willis  muttered  as  we  moved 
on.  "  Doesn't  that  beat  everything?  " 

The  Fat  Lady  was  ponderously  unwinding  the  coils 
of  the  boa  constrictor  from  round  her  neck  as  we 
paused  in  front  of  her  cage,  but  presently  she  recog- 
nized us  and  smiled.  We  asked  her  whether  she  wasn't 
afraid  to  let  the  snake  coil  itself  round  her  neck. 

"  No,  not  when  he  has  had  his  powders,"  she  re- 
plied. "  Sometimes,  when  he  is  waking  up,  I  have  to 
be  a  little  careful  not  to  let  him  get  clean  round  me,  or 
he'd  give  me  a  squeeze." 

The  old  man  and  the  educated  dogs  had  just 
finished  their  performance  when  we  came  in,  and  so 
we  went  over  to  the  platform  on  the  other  side  of  the 
tent,  where  the  gypsy  fortune  teller  was  plying  her 
vocation. 

"  Cross  me  palm,  young  gentlemen,"  she  droned. 
"  Cross  me  palm  wi'  siller,  and  I'll  tell  your  fortunes 
and  all  that's  going  to  happen  to  you."  Then  she,  too, 
recognized  us  and  smiled.  "  Did  you  find  your  hogs  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  All  but  one,"  Willis  told  her. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

"  It  was  too  bad,"  she  said,  "  but  you  never  will  get 
anything  out  of  the  boss  of  this  show.  He's  a  brute ! 
He  cheats  me  out  of  half  my  contract  money  right 
along." 

"Where  do  you  come  from?"  Willis  said  with  a 
knowing  air.  "  You  are  no  gypsy." 

"  No,  indeed !  "  the  girl  replied,  laughing,  and,  rub- 
bing a  place  on  the  back  of  her  left  hand,  she  showed 
us  that  her  skin  was  white  under  the  walnut  stain. 
"  I'm  from  Albany.  I  live  with  my  mother  there, 
and  I'm  sending  my  brother  to  the  Troy  Polytechnic 
School." 

"  Well,  did  you  ever !  "  Willis  said  again  as,  now 
completely  disillusioned,  we  left  the  tent. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

UNCLE    SOLON    CHASE    COMES    ALONG 

THERE  was  what  the  farmers  and  indeed  the 
whole  country  deemed  "  hard  times  "  that  fall, 
and  the  "  hard  times  "  grew  harder.  Again  we 
young  folks  had  been  obliged  to  put  off  attending 
school  at  the  village  Academy — much  to  the  disap- 
pointment of  Addison  and  Theodora. 

Money  was  scarce,  and  all  business  ventures  seemed 
to  turn  out  badly.  Everything  appeared  to  be  going 
wrong,  or  at  least  people  imagined  so.  Uncle  Solon 
Chase  from  Chase's  Mills — afterward  the  Greenback 
candidate  for  the  Presidency — was  driving  about  the 
country  with  his  famous  steers  and  rack-cart,  harangu- 
ing the  farmers  and  advocating  unlimited  greenback 
money. 

To  add  to  our  other  troubles  at  the  old  Squire's  that 
fall,  our  twelve  Jersey  cows  began  giving  bitter  milk, 
so  bitter  that  the  cream  was  affected  and  the  butter 
rendered  unusable.  Yet  the  pasture  was  an  excellent 
one,  consisting  of  sweet  uplands,  fringed  round  with 
sugar-maples,  oaks  and  beeches,  where  the  cleared  land 
extended  up  the  hillsides  into  the  borders  of  the  great 
woods. 

For  some  time  we  were  wholly  at  a  loss  to  know 
what  caused  all  those  cows  to  give  bitter  milk. 

A  strange  freak  also  manifested  itself  in  our  other 
herd  that  summer;  first  one  of  our  Black  Dutch  belted 
heifers,  and  then  several  others  took  to  gnawing  the 
bark  from  young  trees  in  their  pasture  and  along  the 
lanes  to  the  barn.  Before  we  noticed  what  they  were 
doing,  the  bark  from  twenty  or  more  young  maples, 

212 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

elms  and  other  trees  had  been  gnawed  and  stripped  off 
as  high  as  the  heifers  could  reach.  It  was  not  from 
lack  of  food;  there  was  grass  enough  in  the  pasture, 
and  provender  and  hay  at  the  barn;  but  an  abnormal 
appetite  had  beset  them;  they  would  even  pull  off  the 
tough  bark  of  cedars,  in  the  swamp  by  the  brook,  and 
stand  for  hours,  trying  to  masticate  long,  stringy  strips 
of  it. 

In  consequence,  probably,  of  eating  so  much  indi- 
gestible bark,  first  one,  then  another,  "  lost  her  cud," 
that  is,  was  unable  to  raise  her  food  for  rumination 
at  night;  and  as  cattle  must  ruminate,  we  soon  had 
several  sick  animals  to  care  for. 

In  such  cases,  if  the  animal  can  only  be  started 
chewing  an  artificially  prepared  cud  she  will  often,  on 
swallowing  it,  "  raise  "  again ;  and  rumination,  thus 
started,  will  proceed  once  more,  and  the  congestion  be 
relieved. 

For  a  week  or  more  we  were  kept  busy,  night  and 
morning,  furnishing  the  bark-eaters  with  cuds,  pre- 
pared from  the  macerated  inner  bark  of  sweet  elder, 
impregnated  with  rennet.  These  had  to  be  put  in  the 
mouths  of  the  cows  by  main  strength,  and  held  there 
till  from  force  of  habit  the  animal  began  chewing, 
swallowing  and  "  raising  "  again. 

What  was  stranger,  this  unnatural  appetite  for 
gnawing  bark  was  not  confined  wholly  to  cows  that 
fall;  the  shoats  out  in  the  orchard  took  to  gnawing 
apple-trees,  and  spoiled  several  valuable  Sweetings 
and  Gravensteins  before  the  damage  was  discovered. 
It  was  an  "  off  year."  Every  living  thing  seemed  to 
require  a  tonic. 

The  bitter  milk  proved  the  most  difficult  problem. 
No  bitter  weed  or  foul  grass  grew  in  the  pasture. 
The  herd  had  grazed  there  for  years;  nothing  of  the 
sort  had  been  noticed  before. 

The  village  apothecary,  who  styled  himself  a 
chemist,  was  asked  to  give  an  opinion  on  a  specimen  of 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

the  cream;  but  he  failed  to  throw  much  light  on  the 
subject.  "  There  seems  to  be  tannic  acid  in  this  milk," 
he  said. 

At  about  that  time  uncle  Solon  Chase  came  along 
one  afternoon,  and  gave  one  of  his  harangues  at  our 
schoolhouse.  I  well  remember  the  old  fellow  and  his 
high-pitched  voice.  Addison,  I  recall,  refused  to  go  to 
hear  him ;  but  Willis  Murch  and  I  went.  We  were  late 
and  had  difficulty  in  squeezing  inside  the  room.  Uncle 
Solon,  as  everybody  called  him,  stood  at  the  teacher's 
desk,  and  was  talking  in  his  quaint,  homely  way :  a 
lean  man  in  fanner's  garb,  with  a  kind  of  Abraham 
Lincoln  face,  honest  but  humorous,  droll  yet  practical ; 
a  face  afterwards  well  known  from  Maine  to  Iowa. 

"  We  farmers  are  bearin'  the  brunt  of  the  hard 
times,"  Uncle  Solon  said.  "  'Tain't  fair.  Them  rich 
fellers  in  New  York,  and  them  rich  railroad  men  that's 
running  things  at  Washington  have  got  us  down.  'Tis 
time  we  got  up  and  did  something  about  it.  'Tis  time 
them  chaps  down  there  heard  the  tramp  o'  the  farmers' 
cowhide  boots,  comin'  to  inquire  into  this.  And  they'll 
soon  hear  'em.  They'll  soon  hear  the  tramp  o'  them 
old  cowhides  from  Maine  to  Texas. 

"  Over  in  our  town  we  have  got  a  big  stone  mortar. 
It  will  hold  a  bushel  of  corn.  When  the  first  settlers 
came  there  and  planted  a  crop,  they  hadn't  any  grist- 
mill. So  they  got  together  and  made  that  'ere  mortar 
out  of  a  block  of  granite.  They  pecked  that  big,  deep 
hole  in  it  with  a  hammer  and  hand-drill.  That  hole  is 
more'n  two  feet  deep,  but  they  pecked  it  out,  and  then 
made  a  big  stone  pestle  nearly  as  heavy  as  a  man  could 
lift,  to  pound  their  corn. 

"  They  used  to  haul  that  mortar  and  pestle  round 
from  one  log  house  to  another,  and  pounded  all  their 
corn-meal  in  it. 

"  Now  d'ye  know  what  I  would  do  if  I  was  Presi- 
dent? I'd  get  out  that  old  stone  mortar  and  pestle,  and 
I'd  put  all  the  hard  money  in  this  country  in  it,  all  the 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    215 

rich  man's  hard  money,  and  I'd  pound  it  all  up  fine. 
I'd  make  meal  on't !  " 

"And  what  would  you  do  with  the  meal?"  some 
one  cried. 

Uncle  Solon  banged  his  fist  on  the  desk.  "  I'd  make 
greenbacks  on't!"  he  shouted,  and  then  there  was 
great  applause. 

That  solution  of  the  financial  problem  sounded 
simple  enough;  and  yet  it  was  not  quite  so  clear  as  it 
might  be. 

Uncle  Solon  went  on  to  picture  what  a  bright  day 
would  dawn  if  only  the  national  government  would  be 
reasonable  and  issue  plenty  of  greenbacks;  and  when 
he  had  finished  his  speech,  he  invited  every  one  who 
was  in  doubt,  or  had  anything  on  his  mind,  to  ask 
questions. 

"  Ask  me  everything  you  want  to !  "  he  cried.  "  Ask 
me  about  anything  that's  troublin'  your  mind,  and  I'll 
answer  if  I  can,  and  the  best  I  can." 

There  was  something  about  Uncle  Solon  which 
naturally  invited  confidence,  and  for  fully  half  an 
hour  the  people  asked  questions,  to  all  of  which  he 
replied  after  his  quaint,  honest  fashion. 

"  You  might  ask  him  what  makes  cows  give  bitter 
milk,"  Willis  whispered  to  me,  and  laughed.  "  He's 
an  old  .farmer." 

"  I  should  like  to,"  said  I,  but  I  had  no  thoughts  of 
doing  so — when  suddenly  Willis  spoke  up : 

"  Uncle  Solon,  there  is  a  young  fellow  here  who 
would  like  to  ask  you  what  makes  his  cows  give  bitter 
milk  this  fall,  but  he  is  bashful." 

"  Haw!  haw!  "  laughed  Uncle  Solon.  "  Wai,  now, 
he  needn't  be  bashful  with  me,  for  like's  not  I  can  tell 
him.  Like's  not  'tis  the  bitterness  in  the  hearts  o' 
people,  that's  got  into  the  dumb  critters." 

Uncle  Solon's  eyes  twinkled,  and  he  laughed,  as  did 
everybody  else. 

"  Or,  like's  not,"  he  went  on,  "  'tis  something  the 


216    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

critters  has  et.  Shouldn't  wonder  ef  'twas.  What 
kind  of  a  parster  are  them  cows  runnin'  in?  " 

Somewhat  abashed,  I  explained,  and  described  the 
pasture  at  the  old  Squire's. 

"  How  long  ago  did  the  milk  begin  to  be  bitter?  " 

"  About  three  weeks  ago." 

"  Any  red  oak  in  that  parster?  "  asked  Uucle  Solon. 

"  Yes,"  I  said.  "  Lots  of  red  oaks,  all  round  the 
borders  of  the  woods," 

"  Wai,  now,  'tis  an  acorn  year,"  said  Uncle  Solon, 
reflectively.  "  I  dunno,  but  ye  all  know  how  bitter  a 
red-oak  acorn  is.  I  shouldn't  wonder  a  mite  ef  your 
cows  had  taken  to  eatin'  them  oak  acorns.  Critters 
will,  sometimes.  Mine  did,  once.  Fust  one  will  take 
it  up,  then  the  rest  will  foller." 

An  approving  chuckle  at  Uncle  Solon's  sagacity  ran 
round,  and  some  one  asked  what  could  be  done  in  such 
a  case  to  stop  the  cows  from  eating  the  acorns. 

"  Wai,  I'll  tell  ye  what  I  did,"  said  Uncle  Solon,  his 
homely  face  puckering  in  a  reminiscent  smile.  "  I  went 
out  airly  in  the  mornin',  before  I  turned  my  cows  to 
parster,  and  picked  up  the  acorns  under  all  the  oak- 
trees.  I  sot  down  on  a  rock,  took  a  hammer  and 
cracked  them  green  acorns,  cracked  'em  'bout  halfway 
open  at  the  butt  end.  With  my  left-hand  thumb  and 
forefinger,  I  held  the  cracked  acorn  open  by  squeezing 
it,  and  with  my  right  I  dropped  a  pinch  o'  Cayenne 
pepper  into  each  acorn,  then  let  'em  close  up  again. 

"  It  took  me  as  much  as  an  hour  to  fix  up  all  them 
acorns.  Then  I  laid  them  in  little  piles  round  under 
the  trees,  and  turned  out  my  cows.  They  started  for 
the  oaks  fust  thing,  for  they  had  got  a  habit  of  going 
there  as  soon  as  they  were  turned  to  parster  in  the 
morning.  I  stood  by  the  bars  and  watched  to  see  what 
would  happen." 

Here  a  still  broader  smile  overspread  Uncle  Solon's 
face.  "  Within  ten  minutes  I  saw  all  them  cows  going 
lickety-split  for  the  brook  on  the  lower  side  o'  the 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

parster,  and  some  of  'em  were  in  such  a  hurry  that 
they  had  their  tails  right  up  straight  in  the  air ! 

"  Ef  you  will  believe  it,"  Uncle  Solon  concluded, 
"  not  one  of  them  cows  teched  an  oak  acorn  after- 
ward." 

Another  laugh  went  round;  but  an  interruption  oc- 
curred. A  good  lady  from  the  city,  who  was  spending 
the  summer  at  a  farmhouse  near  by,  rose  in  indigna- 
tion and  made  herself  heard. 

"  I  think  that  was  a  very  cruel  thing  to  do !  "  she 
cried.  "  I  think  it  was  shameful  to  treat  your  animals 
so!" 

"  Wai,  now,  ma'am,  I'm  glad  you  spoke  as  you  did, 
I'm  glad  to  know  that  you've  got  a  kind  heart,"  said 
Uncle  Solon.  "  Kind-heartedness  to  man  and  beast  is 
one  of  the  best  things  in  life.  It's  what  holds  this 
world  together.  Anybody  that  uses  Cayenne  pepper 
to  torture  an  animal,  or  play  tricks  on  it,  is  no  friend 
of  mine,  I  can  tell  ye. 

"  But  you  see,  ma'am,  it  is  this  way.  Country  folks 
who  keep  dumb  animals  of  all  kinds  know  a  good 
many  things  about  them  that  city  folks  don't.  Like 
human  beings,  dumb  animals  sometimes  go  all  wrong, 
and  have  to  be  corrected.  Of  course,  we  can't  reason 
with  them.  So  we  have  to  do  the  next  best  thing,  and 
correct  them  as  we  can. 

"  I  had  a  little  dog  once  that  I  was  tremendous  fond 
of,"  Uncle  Solon  continued.  "  His  name  was  Spot. 
He  was  a  bird-dog,  and  so  bright  it  seemed  as  if  he 
could  almost  talk.  But  he  took  to  suckin'  eggs,  and 
began  to  steal  eggs  at  my  neighbors'  barns  and  hen- 
houses. He  would  fetch  home  eggs  without  crackin' 
the  shells,  and  hold  'em  in  his  mouth  so  cunning  you 
wouldn't  know  he  had  anything  there.  He  used  to 
bury  them  eggs  in  the  garden  and  all  about. 

"  Of  course  that  made  trouble  with  the  neighbors. 
It  looked  as  if  I'd  have  to  kill  Spot,  and  I  hated  to  do  it, 
for  I  loved  that  little  dog.  But  I  happened  to  think  of 


218    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

Cayenne.  So  I  took  and  blowed  an  egg — made  a  hole 
at  each  end  and  blowed  out  the  white  and  the  yelk. 
I  mixed  the  white  with  Cayenne  pepper  and  put  it  back 
through  the  hole.  Then  I  stuck  little  pieces  of  white 
paper  over  both  holes,  and  laid  the  egg  where  I  knew 
Spot  would  find  it. 

"  He  found  it,  and  about  three  minutes  after  that  I 
saw  him  going  to  the  brook  in  a  hurry.  He  had  quite 
a  time  on't,  sloshin'  water,  coolin'  off  his  mouth — and 
I  never  knew  him  to  touch  an  egg  afterward. 

"  But  I  see,  ma'am,  that  you  have  got  quite  a 
robustious  prejudice  against  Cayenne.  It  isn't  such 
bad  stuff,  after  all.  It's  fiery,  but  it  never  does  any 
permanent  harm.  It's  a  good  medicine,  too,  for  a  lot 
of  things  that  ail  us.  Why,  Cayenne  pepper  saved  my 
life  once.  I  really  think  so.  It  was  when  I  was  a  boy, 
and  boy-like,  I  had  et  a  lot  of  green  artichokes.  A 
terrible  pain  took  hold  of  me.  I  couldn't  breathe.  I 
thought  I  was  surely  going  to  die ;  but  my  mother  gave 
me  a  dose  of  Cayenne  and  molasses,  and  in  ten  minutes 
I  was  feeling  better. 

"  And  even  now,  old  as  I  am,  when  I  get  cold  and 
feel  pretty  bad,  I  go  and  take  a  good  stiff  dose  of  Cay- 
enne and  molasses,  and  get  to  bed.  In  fifteen  minutes 
I  will  be  in  a  perspiration ;  pretty  soon  I'll  go  to  sleep ; 
and  next  morning  I'll  feel  quite  smart  again. 

"  Just  you  try  that,  ma'am,  the  next  time  you  get  a 
cold.  You  will  find  it  will  do  good.  It  is  better  than 
so  much  of  that  quinin  that  they  are  givin'  us  nowa- 
days. That  quinin  raises  Cain  with  folks'  ears.  It 
permanently  injures  the  hear  in'. 

"  When  I  advise  any  one  to  use  Cayenne,  either  to 
cure  a  dog  that  sucks  eggs  or  cows  that  eat  acorns,  I 
advise  it  as  a  medicine,  just  as  I  would  ef  the  animal 
was  sick.  And  you  mustn't  think,  ma'am,  that  we 
farmers  are  so  hard-hearted  and  cruel  as  all  that,  for 
our  hearts  are  just  as  tender  and  compassionate  to 
animals  as  if  we  lived  in  a  great  city." 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    219 

Uncle  Solon  may  not  have  been  a  safe  guide  for  the 
nation's  finances,  but  he  possessed  a  valuable  knowl- 
edge of  farm  life  and  farm  affairs. 

I  went  home;  and  the  next  morning  we  tried  the 
quaint  old  Greenbacker's  "  cure  "  for  bitter  milk ;  it 
"  worked  "  as  he  said  it  would. 

We  also  made  a  sticky  wash,  of  which  Cayenne  was 
the  chief  ingredient,  for  the  trunks  of  the  young  trees 
along  the  lanes  and  in  the  orchard,  and  after  getting  a 
taste  of  it,  neither  the  Black  Dutch  belted  heifers  nor 
the  hogs  did  any  further  damage.  A  young  neighbor 
of  ours  has  also  cured  her  pet  cat  of  slyly  pilfering 
eggs  at  the  stable,  in  much  the  way  Uncle  Solon  cured 
his  dog. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

ON    THE    DARK    OF   THE    MOON 

IN  a  little  walled  inclosure  near  the  roadside  at  the 
old  Squire's  stood  two  very  large  pear-trees  that  at 
a  distance  looked  like  Lombardy  poplars ;  they  had 
straight,  upright  branches  and  were  fully  fifty  feet  tall. 
One  was  called  the  Eastern  Belle  and  the  other  the 
Indian  Queen.  They  had  come  as  little  shoots  from 
grandmother  Ruth's  people  in  Connecticut  when  she 
and  the  old  Squire  were  first  married.  Grandmother 
always  spoke  of  them  as  "  Joe's  pear-trees  " ;  Joseph 
was  the  old  Squire's  given  name.  Some  joke  con- 
nected with  their  early  married  life  was  in  her  mind 
when  she  spoke  thus,  for  she  always  laughed  roguishly 
when  she  said  "  Joe's  pears,"  but  she  would  never  ex- 
plain the  joke  to  us  young  folks.  She  insisted  that 
those  were  the  old  Squire's  pears,  and  told  us  not  to 
pick  them. 

In  the  orchard  behind  the  house  were  numerous 
other  pear-trees.  There  were  no  restrictions  on  those 
or  on  the  early  apples  or  plums ;  but  every  year  grand- 
mother half  jokingly  told  us  not  to  go  to  those  two 
trees  in  the  walled  inclosure,  and  she  never  went  there 
herself. 

I  must  confess,  however,  that  we  young  folks  knew 
pretty  well  how  those  pears  tasted.  The  Eastern  Belle 
bore  a  large,  long  pear  that  turned  yellow  when  ripe 
and  had  a  fine  rosy  cheek  on  one  side.  The  Indian 
Queen  was  a  thick-bodied  pear  with  specks  under  the 
skin,  a  deep-sunk  nose  and  a  long  stem.  It  had  a 
tendency  to  crack  on  one  side ;  but  it  ripened  at  about 
the  same  time  as  the  Belle,  and  its  flavor  was  even  finer. 

The  little  walled  pen  that  inclosed  the  two  pear-trees 

220 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

had  a  history  of  its  own.  The  town  had  built  it  as  a 
*'  pound  "  for  stray  animals  in  1822,  shortly  after  the 
neighborhood  was  settled.  The  walls  were  six  or 
seven  feet  high,  and  on  one  side  was  a  gateway. 
The  inclosure  was  only  twenty  feet  wide  by  thirty  feet 
long.  It  had  not  been  used  long  as  a  pound,  for  a 
pound  that  was  larger  and  more  centrally  situated  be- 
came necessary  soon  after  it  was  built.  When  those 
two  little  pear-trees  came  from  Connecticut  the  old 
Squire  set  them  out  inside  this  walled  pen ;  he  thought 
they  would  be  protected  by  the  high  pound  wall.  A 
curious  circumstance  about  those  pear-trees  was  that 
they  did  not  begin  bearing  when  they  were  nine  or  ten 
years  old,  as  pear-trees  usually  do.  Year  after  year 
passed,  until  they  had  stood  there  twenty-seven  years, 
with  never  blossom  or  fruit  appearing  on  them. 

The  old  Squire  tried  various  methods  of  making  the 
trees  bear.  At  the  suggestion  of  neighbors  he  drove 
rusty  nails  into  the  trunks,  and  buried  bags  of  pear 
seeds  at  the  foot  of  them,  and  he  fertilized  the  in- 
closure richly.  But  all  to  no  purpose.  Finally  grand- 
mother advised  the  old  Squire  to  spread  the  leached 
ashes  from  her  leach  tub — after  she  had  made  soap 
and  hulled  corn  in  the  spring — on  the  ground  inside 
the  pen.  The  old  Squire  did  so,  and  the  next  spring 
both  trees  blossomed.  They  bore  bountifully  that  sum- 
mer and  every  season  afterward,  until  they  died. 

We  had  a  young  neighbor,  Alfred  Batchelder,  who 
was  fond  of  foraging  by  night  for  plums,  grapes,  and 
pears  in  the  orchards  of  his  neighbors.  His  own 
family  did  not  raise  fruit;  they  thought  it  too  much 
trouble  to  cultivate  the  trees.  But  Alfred  openly 
boasted  of  having  the  best  fruit  that  the  neighborhood 
afforded.  One  of  Alfred's  cronies  in  these  nocturnal 
raids  was  a  boy,  named  Harvey  Yeatton,  who  lived  at 
the  village,  six  or  seven  miles  away;  almost  every 
year  he  came  to  visit  Alfred  for  a  week  or  more  in 
September. 


222    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

It  was  a  good-natured  community.  To  early  apples, 
indeed,  the  rogues  were  welcome;  but  garden  pears, 
plums,  and  grapes  were  more  highly  prized,  for  in 
Maine  it  requires  some  little  care  to  raise  them.  At 
the  farm  of  our  nearest  neighbors,  the  Edwardses, 
there  were  five  greengage  trees  that  bore  delicious 
plums.  For  three  summers  in  succession  Alfred  and 
Harvey  stole  nearly  every  plum  on  those  trees — at 
least,  there  was  little  doubt  that  it  was  they  who  took 
them. 

They  also  took  the  old  Squire's  pears  in  the  walled 
pen.  Twice  Addison  and  I  tracked  them  home  the 
next  morning  in  the  dewy  grass,  across  the  fields. 
Time  and  again,  too,  they  took  our  Bartlett  pears  and 
plums.  Addison  wanted  the  old  Squire  to  send  the 
sheriff  after  them  and  put  a  stop  to  their  raids,  but  he 
only  laughed.  "  Oh,  I  suppose  those  boys  love  pears 
and  plums,"  he  said,  forbearingly.  But  we  of  the 
younger  generation  were  indignant. 

One  day,  when  the  old  Squire  and  I  were  driving  to 
the  village,  we  met  Alfred ;  the  old  gentleman  stopped, 
and  said  to  him : 

"  My  son,  hadn't  you  better  leave  me  just  a  few  of 
those  pears  in  the  old  pound  this  year?  " 

"I  never  touched  a  pear  there!"  Alfred  shouted. 
"  You  can't  prove  I  did,  and  you'd  better  not  accuse 


me." 


The  old  Squire  only  laughed,  and  drove  on. 

A  few  nights  afterward  both  pear-trees  were  robbed 
and  nearly  stripped  of  fruit.  We  found  several  broken 
twigs  on  the  top  branches,  and  guessed  that  Alfred 
had  used  a  long  pole  with  a  hook  at  the  end  with  which 
to  shake  down  the  fruit.  After  what  had  passed  on 
the  road  this  action  looked  so  much  like  defiance  that 
the  old  Squire  was  nettled.  He  did  nothing  about  it 
at  the  time,  however. 

Another  year  passed.  Then  at  table  one  night  Ellen 
remarked  that  Harvey  Yeatton  had  come  to  visit 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

Alfred  again.  "  Alfred  brought  him  up  from  the 
village  this  afternoon,"  she  said.  "  I  saw  them  drive 
by  together." 

"  Now  the  pears  and  plums  will  have  to  suffer 
again !  "  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen.  "  They  stopped  down  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill,  and  looked  up  at  those  two  pear-trees  in  the 
old  pound;  then  they  glanced  at  the  house,  to  see  if 
any  one  had  noticed  that  they  were  passing." 

"  Those  pears  are  just  getting  ripe,"  said  Addison. 
"  It  wouldn't  astonish  me  if  they  disappeared  to-night. 
There's  no  moon,  is  there  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  grandmother  Ruth.  "  It's  the  dark  of 
the  moon.  Joseph,  you  had  better  look  out  for  your 
pears  to-night,"  she  added,  laughing. 

The  old  Squire  went  on  eating  his  supper  for  some 
minutes  without  comment;  but  just  as  we  finished,  he 
said,  "  Boys,  where  did  we  put  our  skunk  fence  last 
fall?" 

"  Rolled  it  up  and  put  it  in  the  wagon-house  cham- 
ber," said  I. 

"  About  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  of  it,  isn't  there?  " 

"  A  hundred  and  sixty,"  said  Addison.  "  Enough, 
you  know,  to  go  round  that  patch  of  sweet  corn  in  the 
garden." 

"  That  wire  fence  worked  well  with  four-footed 
robbers,"  the  old  Squire  remarked,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye.  "  Perhaps  it  might  serve  for  the  two-footed 
kind.  You  fetch  that  down,  boys ;  I've  an  idea  we  may 
use  it  to-night." 

For  several  summers  the  garden  had  been  ravaged 
by  skunks.  Although  carnivorous  by  nature,  the  little 
pests  seem  to  have  a  great  liking  for  sweet  corn  when 
in  the  milk. 

Wire  fence,  woven  in  meshes,  such  as  is  now  used 
everywhere  for  poultry  yards,  had  then  recently  been 
advertised.  We  had  sent  for  a  roll  of  it,  two  yards  in 
width,  and  thereafter  every  summer  we  had  put  it  up 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

round  the  corn  patch.  None  of  the  pests  ever  scaled 
the  wire  fence;  and  thereafter  we  had  enjoyed  our 
sweet  corn  in  peace. 

That  night,  just  after  dusk,  we  reared  the  skunk 
fence  on  top  of  the  old  pound  wall,  and  fastened  it 
securely  in  an  upright  position  all  round  the  inclosure. 
The  wall  was  what  Maine  farmers  call  a  "  double 
wall";  it  was  built  of  medium-sized  stones,  and  was 
three  or  four  feet  wide  at  the  top.  It  was  about  six 
feet  high,  and  when  topped  with  the  wire  made  a  fence 
fully  twelve  feet  in  height. 

The  old  pound  gate  had  long  ago  disappeared;  in 
its  place  were  two  or  three  little  bars  that  could  easily 
be  let  down.  The  trespassers  would  naturally  enter  by 
that  gap,  and  on  a  moonless  night  would  not  see  the 
wire  fence  on  top  of  the  wall.  They  would  have  more 
trouble  in  getting  out  of  the  place  than  they  had  had  in 
getting  into  it  if  the  gap  were  to  be  stopped. 

At  the  farm  that  season  were  two  hired  men, 
brothers  named  James  and  Asa  Doane,  strong,  active 
young  fellows;  and  since  it  was  warm  September 
weather,  the  old  Squire  asked  them  to  make  a  shake- 
down of  hay  for  themselves  that  night  behind  the 
orchard  wall,  near  the  old  pound,  and  to  sleep  there 
"  with  one  eye  open."  If  the  rogues  did  not  come  for 
the  pears,  we  would  take  down  the  skunk  fence  early 
the  next  morning,  and  set  it  again  for  them  the  follow- 
ing night. 

Nothing  suited  Asa  and  Jim  better  than  a  lark  of 
that  sort.  About  eight  o'clock  they  ensconced  them- 
selves in  the  orchard,  thirty  or  forty  feet  from  the  old 
pound  gateway.  Addison  also  lay  in  wait  with  them. 
If  the  rogues  came  and  began  to  shake  the  trees,  all 
three  were  to  make  a  rush  for  the  gap,  keep  them  in 
there,  and  shout  for  the  old  Squire  to  come  down  from 
the  house. 

Addison's  surmise  that  Alfred  and  his  crony  would 
begin  operations  that  very  night  proved  a  shrewd  one. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    225 

Shortly  after  eleven  o'clock  he  heard  a  noise  at  the 
entrance  of  the  old  pound.  Asa  and  Jim  were  asleep. 
Addison  lay  still,  and  a  few  minutes  later  heard  the 
rogues  put  up  their  poles  with  the  hooks  on  them,  and 
begin  gently  to  shake  the  high  limbs. 

The  sound  of  the  pears  dropping  on  the  ground 
waked  Asa  and  Jim,  and  at  a  whispered  word  from 
Addison  all  three  bounded  over  the  orchard  wall  and 
rushed  to  the  gateway,  shouting,  "  We've  got  ye ! 
We've  got  ye  now !  Surrender !  Surrender  and  go  to 
jail !  " 

Surprised  though  they  were,  Alfred  and  Harvey 
had  no  intention  of  surrendering.  Dropping  their 
poles,  they  sprang  for  the  pound  wall.  In  a  moment 
they  had  scrambled  to  the  top.  Then  they  jumped  for 
the  ground  on  the  other  side ;  but  the  yielding  meshes 
of  the  skunk  fence  brought  them  up  short.  It  was  too 
dark  for  them  to  see  what  the  obstruction  was,  and 
they  bounced  and  jumped  against  the  wire  meshes  like 
fish  in  a  net. 

"  Cut  it  with  your  jackknife!"  Harvey  whispered 
to  Alfred;  and  then  both  boys  got  out  their  knives  and 
sawed  away  at  the  meshes — with  no  success  what- 
ever! 

By  that  time  Jim  and  Asa  had  entered  the  pound, 
and  shouting  with  laughter,  each  grabbed  a  boy  by  the 
ankle  and  hauled  him  down  from  the  wall.  At  about 
that  time,  too,  the  old  Squire  arrived  on  the  scene, 
bringing  a  rope  and  a  new  horsewhip.  I  myself  had 
been  sleeping  soundly,  and  was  slow  to  wake.  Even 
grandmother  Ruth  and  the  girls  were  ahead  of  me,  and 
when  I  rushed  out,  they  were  standing  at  the  orchard 
gate,  listening  in  considerable  excitement  to  the  com- 
motion at  the  old  pound.  When  I  reached  the  place 
Jim  and  Asa — with  Addison  looking  on — had  tied  the 
rogues  together,  and  were  haling  them  up  through  the 
orchard. 

"  Take  'em  to  the   barn,    Squire!"   Jim  shouted. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

"  Shut  the  big  doors,  so  the  neighbors  can't  hear  'em 
holler,  and  then  give  it  to  'em  good !  " 

''  Yes,  give  it  to  'em,  Squire ! "  Asa  exclaimed. 
"  They  need  it." 

The  old  Squire  was  following  after  them,  cracking 
his  whip,  for  I  suppose  he  thought  it  well  to  frighten 
the  scamps  thoroughly.  It  was  too  dark  for  me  to  see 
Alfred's  face  or  Harvey's,  but  they  had  little  to  say. 
The  procession  moved  on  to  the  barn;  I  rolled  the 
doors  open,  while  Addison  ran  to  get  a  lantern. 
Grandmother  and  the  girls  had  retired  hastily  to  the 
ell  piazza,  where  they  stood  listening  apprehensively. 

"  Now  I  am  going  to  give  you  your  choice,"  the  old 
Squire  said.  "  Shall  I  send  for  the  sheriff,  or  will  you 
take  a  whipping  and  promise  to  stop  stealing  fruit  ?  " 

Neither  Alfred  nor  Harvey  would  reply;  and  the 
old  Squire  told  Addison  to  hitch  up  Old  Sol  and  fetch 
Hawkes,  the  sheriff.  The  prospect  of  jail  frightened 
the  boys  so  much  that  they  said  they  would  take  the 
whipping,  and  promise  not  to  steal  any  more  fruit. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  Alfred,  that  I  don't  wholly  trust 
your  word,"  the  old  Squire  said.  "  You  have  told  me 
falsehoods  before.  We  must  have  your  promise  in 
writing." 

He  sent  me  into  the  house  for  paper  and  pencil,  and 
then  set  Addison  to  write  a  pledge  for  the  boys  to  sign. 
As  nearly  as  I  remember,  it  ran  like  this  : 

"  We,  the  undersigned,  Harvey  Yeatton  and  Alfred 
Batchelder,  confess  that  we  have  been  robbing  gardens 
and  stealing  our  neighbors'  fruit  for  four  years.  We 
have  been  caught  to-night  stealing  pears  at  the  old 
pound.  We  have  been  given  our  choice  of  going  to 
jail  or  taking  a  whipping  and  promising  to  steal  no 
more  in  the  future.  We  choose  the  whipping  and  the 
promise,  and  we  engage  to  make  no  complaint  and  no 
further  trouble  about  this  for  any  one." 

The  old  Squire  read  it  over  to  them  and  bade  them 
to  take  notice  of  what  they  were  signing.  "  For  if  I 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

hear  of  your  stealing  fruit  again,"  said  he,  "  I  shall 
get  a  warrant  and  have  you  arrested  for  what  you  have 
done  to-night.  Here  are  four  witnesses  ready  to 
testify  against  you." 

Alfred  and  Harvey  put  their  names  to  the  paper 
while  I  held  the  lantern. 

"  Now  give  it  to  'em,  Squire! "  said  Jim,  when  the 
boys  had  signed. 

From  the  first  Addison  and  I  had  had  little  idea  that 
the  old  Squire  would  whip  the  boys.  It  was  never 
easy  to  induce  him  to  whip  even  a  refractory  horse  or 
ox.  Now  he  took  the  paper,  read  their  names,  then 
folded  it  and  put  it  into  his  pocket. 

"  I  guess  this  will  hold  you  straight,  boys,"  he  said. 
"  Now  you  can  go  home." 

"  What,  ain't  ye  goin'  to  lick  'em?  "  Jim  exclaimed. 

"  Not  this  time,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  Untie 
them  and  let  them  go." 

Jim  and  Asa  were  greatly  disappointed.  "  Let  me 
give  'em  jest  a  few  licks,"  Jim  begged,  with  a  longing 
glance  at  the  whip. 

"  Not  this  time,"  the  old  Squire  replied.  "  If  we 
catch  them  at  this  again,  I'll  see  about  it.  And,  boys," 
he  said  to  them,  as  Jim  and  Asa  very  reluctantly  un- 
tied the  knots  of  their  bonds,  "  any  time  you  want  a 
pocketful  of  pears  to  eat  just  come  and  ask  me.  But 
mind,  don't  you  steal  another  pear  or  plum  in  this 
neighborhood !  " 

Addison  opened  the  barn  doors,  and  Alfred  and 
Harvey  took  themselves  off  without  ceremony. 

Apparently  they  kept  their  promise  with  us,  for  we 
heard  of  no  further  losses  of  fruit  in  that  neighbor- 
hood. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 
HALSTEAD'S  GOBBLER 

A"  that  time  a  flock  of  twenty  or  thirty  turkeys  was 
usually  raised  at  the  old  farm  every  fall — fine, 
great  glossy  birds.  Nearly  every  farmhouse  had 
its  flock;  and  by  October  that  entire  upland  county 
resounded  to  the  plaintive  Yeap-yeap,  yop-yop-yop! 
and  the  noisy  Gobble-gobble-gobble!  of  the  stupid  yet 
much-prized  "  national  bird."  At  present  you  may 
drive  the  whole  length  of  our  county  and  neither  hear 
nor  see  a  turkey. 

In  their  young  days  the  old  Squire  and  Judge 
Fessenden  of  Portland,  later  in  life  Senator  Fessenden, 
had  been  warm  friends ;  and  after  the  old  Squire  chose 
farming  for  a  vocation  and  went  to  live  at  the  family 
homestead,  he  was  wont  to  send  the  judge  a  fine  turkey 
for  Thanksgiving — purely  as  a  token  of  -friendship 
and  remembrance.  The  judge  usually  acknowledged 
the  gift  by  sending  in  return  an  interesting  book,  or 
other  souvenir,  sometimes  a  new  five-dollar  greenback 
— when  he  could  not  think  of  an  appropriate  present. 

The  old  Squire  did  not  like  to  accept  money  from 
an  old  friend,  and  after  we  young  people  went  home  to 
Maine  to  live  he  transferred  to  us  the  privilege  of 
sending  Senator  Fessenden  a  turkey  for  Thanksgiving, 
and  allowed  us  to  have  the  return  present. 

By  September  we  began  to  look  the  flock  over  and 
pick  out  the  one  that  bade  fair  to  be  the  largest  and 
handsomest  in  November.  There  was  much  "  hefting  " 
and  sometimes  weighing  of  birds  on  the  barn  scales. 
We  carefully  inspected  their  skins  under  their  feathers, 
for  we  sent  the  judge  a  "  yellow  skin,"  and  never  a 
"  blue  skin,"  however  heavy. 

228 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

That  autumn  there  was  considerable  difference  of 
opinion  among  us  which  young  gobbler,  out  of  twenty 
or  more,  was  the  best  and  promised  to  "  dress  off  " 
finest  by  Thanksgiving.  Addison  chose  a  dark,  bur- 
nished bird  with  a  yellow  skin;  at  that  time  our  flock 
was  made  up  of  a  mixture  of  breeds — white,  speckled, 
bronze  and  golden.  Halstead  chose  a  large  speckled 
gobbler  with  heavy  purple  wattles  and  a  long  "  quitter  " 
that  bothered  him  in  picking  up  his  food. 

Theodora  and  Ellen  also  selected  two,  and  I  had  my 
eye  on  one  with  golden  markings,  but  of  that  I  need 
say  no  more  here ;  as  weeks  passed,  it  proved  inferior 
to  Addison's  and  to  Theodora's. 

Even  as  late  as  October  20,  it  was  not  easy  to  say 
which  was  the  best  one  out  of  five ;  at  about  that  time 
I  also  discovered  that  Addison  was  secretly  feeding  his 
bronze  turkey,  out  at  the  west  barn,  with  rations  of 
warm  dough.  Theodora  and  I  exchanged  confidences 
and  began  feeding  ours  on  dough  mixed  with  boiled 
squash,  for  we  had  been  told  that  this  was  good  diet 
for  fattening  turkeys. 

When  Halstead  found  out  what  we  were  doing,  he 
was  indignant  and  declared  we  were  not  playing  fair ; 
but  we  rejoined  that  he  had  the  same  chance  to  "  feed 
up,"  if  he  desired  to  take  the  trouble. 

At  the  Corners,  about  a  mile  from  the  old  Squire's, 
there  lived  a  person  who  had  far  too  great  an  influence 
over  Halstead.  His  name  was  Tibbetts;  he  was  post- 
master and  kept  a  grocery;  also  he  sold  intoxicants 
covertly,  in  violation  of  the  state  law,  and  was  a 
gambler  in  a  small,  mean  way.  Claiming  to  know 
something  of  farming  and  of  poultry,  he  told  Halstead 
that  the  best  way  to  fatten  a  turkey  speedily  was  to 
shut  it  up  and  not  allow  it  to  run  with  the  rest  of  the 
flock.  He  said,  too,  that  if  a  turkey  were  shut  up  in  a 
well-lighted  place,  it  would  fret  itself,  running  to  and 
fro,  particularly  if  it  heard  other  turkeys  calling  to  it. 

The    food    for    fattening    turkeys,    said    Tibbetts, 


230    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

should  consist  of  a  warm  dough,  made  from  two  parts 
corn  meal  and  one  part  wheat  bran.  To  a  quart  of 
such  dough  he  asserted  that  a  tablespoonful  of  pow- 
dered eggshells  should  be  added,  also  a  dust  of  Cay- 
enne pepper.  And  if  a  really  perfect  food  for  fattening 
poultry  were  desired,  Tibbetts  declared  that  a  table- 
spoonful  of  new  rum  should  be  added  to  the  water 
with  which  the  quart  of  dough  was  mixed.  A  won- 
derful turkey  food,  no  doubt! 

Tibbetts  also  told  Halstead  to  take  a  pair  of  sharp 
shears  and  cut  off  an  inch  and  a  half  of  his  turkey's 
"  quitter,"  if  it  were  too  long  and  bothered  him  about 
eating.  If  the  turkey  grew  "  dainty,"  as  Tibbetts  ex- 
pressed it,  Halstead  was  to  make  the  dough  into  rolls 
about  the  size  of  his  thumb,  then  open  the  bird's  beak, 
shove  the  rolls  in,  and  make  him  swallow  them — three 
or  four  of  them,  three  times  a  day. 

Halstead  came  home  from  the  Corners  and  made  a 
quart  of  dough  according  to  the  Tibbetts  formula.  I 
do  not  know  certainly  about  the  spoonful  of  rum.  If 
Tibbetts  gave  him  the  rum,  Halstead  kept  quiet  about 
it;  the  old  Squire  was  a  strict  observer  of  the  Maine 
law. 

None  of  us  found  out  what  Halstead  was  doing  for 
four  or  five  days,  and  then  only  by  accident.  For  he 
had  caught  his  speckled  gobbler  and  put  him  down  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  in  the  wagon-house  cellar;  and  he 
got  a  sheet  of  hemlock  bark,  four  feet  long  by  two  or 
three  feet  wide,  such  as  are  peeled  off  hemlock  logs, 
and  sold  at  tanneries,  for  the  turkey  to  stand  on. 

It  was  dark  as  Egypt  down  in  that  cellar,  when  the 
door  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  was  shut;  and  turkeys, 
as  is  well-known,  are  very  timid  about  moving  in  the 
dark.  That  poor  gobbler  just  stood  there,  stock-still, 
on  that  sheet  of  bark  and  did  not  dare  step  off  it. 
Three  times  a  day  Halstead  used  to  go  down  there,  on 
the  sly,  with  a  lantern,  and  feed  him. 

This  went  on  for  some  time ;  Addison  and  I  learned 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

of  it  from  hearing  a  little  faint  gobble  in  the  cellar  one 
morning  when  the  flock  was  out  in  the  farm  lane,  just 
behind  the  wagon-house.  The  young  gobblers  were 
gobbling  and  the  hen  turkeys  yeaping ;  and  from  down 
cellar  came  a  faint,  answering  gobble.  We  wondered 
how  a  turkey  had  got  into  that  cellar,  and  on  opening 
the  door  and  peering  down  the  stairs,  we  discovered 
Halstead's  speckled  gobbler  standing  on  the  curved 
sheet  of  hemlock  bark. 

While  Addison  and  I  were  wondering  about  it,  Hal- 
stead  came  out,  and  roughly  told  us  to  let  his  turkey 
alone!  In  reply  to  our  questions  he  at  last  gave  us 
some  information  about  his  project  and  boasted  that 
within  three  weeks  he  would  have  a  turkey  four 
pounds  heavier  than  any  other  in  the  flock;  but  he 
would  not  tell  us  how  to  make  his  kind  of  dough. 

Addison  scoffed  at  the  scheme;  but  to  show  how 
well  it  was  working,  Halstead  took  us  downstairs  and 
had  us  "  heft  "  the  turkey.  It  did  seem  to  be  getting 
heavy.  Halstead  also  got  his  dough  dish  and  showed 
us  how  he  fed  his  bird.  After  the  second  roll  of 
dough  had  been  shoved  down  his  throat,  the  poor 
gobbler  opened  his  bill  and  gave  a  queer  little  gasp  of 
repletion,  like  Ca-r-r-r!  None  the  less,  Halstead  made 
him  swallow  four  rolls  of  dough ! 

Addison  was  disgusted.  "  Halse,  I  call  that  nasty !  " 
he  said.  "  I  wouldn't  care  to  eat  a  turkey  fattened  that 
way.  I've  a  good  notion  to  tell  the  old  Squire  about 
this." 

Halstead  was  angry.  "  Oh,  yes !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  After  I  raise  the  biggest  turkey,  I  suppose  you  will 
go  and  tell  everybody  that  it  isn't  fit  to  eat !  " 

So  Addison  and  I  went  about  our  business,  but  we 
used  to  peep  down  there  once  in  a  while,  to  see  that 
poor  bird  standing,  humped  up,  on  his  sheet  of  bark. 
Sometimes,  too,  when  we  saw  Halstead  going  down 
with  the  lantern  to  feed  him,  we  went  along  to  see  the 
performance  and  hear  the  turkey  groan,  Ca-r-r-r! 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

"  Halstead,  that's  wicked ! "  Addison  said  several 
times ;  and  Halstead  retorted  that  we  were  both  trying 
to  make  out  a  story  against  him,  so  as  to  sneak  our 
own  turkeys  in  ahead  of  his. 

Nine  or  ten  days  passed.  Halstead  was  nearly  al- 
ways behindhand  when  we  turned  out  to  do  the  farm 
chores.  As  we  went  through  the  wagon-house  one 
morning  Addison  stopped  to  take  another  peep  at  the 
captive;  I  went  on,  but  a  moment  later  heard  him 
calling  to  me  softly.  When  I  joined  him  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  he  lighted  a  match  for  me  to  see.  Hal- 
stead's  gobbler  lay  dead  with  both  feet  up  in  the  air. 
We  wondered  what  Halstead  would  say  when  he  went 
to  feed  his  turkey.  As  we  left,  we  heard  him  coming 
down  from  upstairs.  He  did  not  join  us,  to  help  do 
the  chores,  for  half  an  hour.  When  he  did  appear,  he 
looked  glum;  he  had  carried  the  poor  victim  of  forced 
feeding  out  behind  the  west  barn  and  buried  him  in  the 
bean  field — without  ceremonies. 

We  said  nothing — except  now  and  then,  as  days 
passed,  to  ask  him  how  the  speckled  gobbler  was  com- 
ing on.  Halstead  would  look  hard  at  us,  but  vouch- 
safed no  replies. 

The  judge's  turkey  was  sent  to  Portland  on  Novem- 
ber 15;  at  that  period  each  state  appointed  its  own 
Thanksgiving  Day,  and  in  Maine  the  I7th  had  been 
set.  Addison's  choice  had  proved  the  best  turkey:  I 
think  it  weighed  nearly  seventeen  pounds;  he  divided 
the  five  dollars  with  Theodora.  The  old  Squire  never 
learned  of  Halstead's  bootless  experiment  in  forced 
feeding. 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

MITCHELLA    JARS 

COLD  weather  was  again  approaching.  October 
had  been  very  wet;  but  bright,  calm  days  of 
Indian  summer  followed  in  November.  And 
about  that  time  Catherine,  Theodora  and  Ellen  had  an 
odd  adventure  while  out  in  the  woods  gathering  par- 
tridge berries. 

At  the  old  farm  we  called  the  vivid  green  creeping 
vine  that  bears  those  coral-red  berries  in  November, 
"  partridge  berry,"  because  partridge  feed  on  the 
berries  and  dig  them  from  under  the  snow.  Botanists, 
however,  call  the  vine  Mitchella  repens.  In  our  tramps 
through  the  woods  we  boys  never  gave  it  more  than  a 
passing  glance,  for  the  berries  are  not  good  to  eat. 
The  girls,  however,  thought  that  the  vine  was  very 
pretty.  Every  fall  Theodora  and  Ellen,  with  Kate 
Edwards,  and  sometimes  the  Wilbur  girls,  went  into 
the  woods  to  gather  lion's-paw  and  mitchella  with 
which  to  decorate  the  old  farmhouse  at  Thanksgiving 
and  Christmas.  But  it  was  one  of  their  girl  friends, 
named  Lucia  Scribner,  or  rather  Lucia's  mother,  at 
Portland,  who  invented  mitchella  jars,  and  started  a 
new  industry  in  our  neighborhood. 

Lucia,  who  was  attending  the  village  Academy, 
often  came  up  to  the  old  farm  on  a  Friday  night  to 
visit  our  girls  over  Saturday  and  Sunday.  On  one 
visit  they  gathered  a  basketful  of  mitchella,  and  when 
Lucia  went  home  to  Portland  for  Thanksgiving,  she 
carried  a  small  boxful  of  the  vines  and  berries  to  her 
mother.  Mrs.  Scribner  was  an  artist  of  some  ability, 
and  she  made  several  little  sketches  of  the  vine  on 

233 


234    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

whitewood  paper  cutters  as  gifts  to  her  friends.  In 
order  to  keep  the  vine  moist  and  fresh  while  she  was 
making  the  sketches,  she  put  it  in  a  little  glass  jar  with 
a  piece  of  glass  over  the  top. 

The  vine  was  so  pretty  in  the  jar  that  Mrs.  Scribner 
was  loath  to  throw  it  away ;  and  after  a  while  she  saw 
that  the  berries  were  increasing  in  size.  She  had  put 
nothing  except  a  few  spoonfuls  of  water  into  the  jar 
with  the  vine;  but  the  berries  grew  slowly  all  winter, 
until  they  were  twice  as  big  as  in  the  fall. 

Mrs.  Scribner  was  delighted  with  the  success  of  her 
chance  experiment.  The  jar  with  the  vine  in  it  made  a 
very  pretty  ornament  for  her  work  table.  Moreover, 
the  plant  needed  little  care.  To  keep  it  fresh  she  had 
only  to  moisten  it  with  a  spoonful  of  water  every  two 
or  three  weeks.  And  cold  weather — even  zero  weather 
— did  not  injure  it  at  all.  Friends  who  called  on  Mrs. 
Scribner  admired  her  jar,  and  said  that  they  should 
like  to  get  some  of  them.  Mrs.  Scribner  wrote  to 
Theodora  and  suggested  that  she  and  her  girl  friends 
make  up  some  mitchella  jars,  and  sell  them  in  the  city. 

That  was  the  way  the  little  industry  began.  The 
girls,  however,  did  not  really  go  into  the  business  until 
the  next  fall.  Then  Theodora,  Ellen,  and  Catherine 
prepared  over  a  hundred  jarfuls  of  the  green  vine  and 
berries.  Those  they  sent  to  Portland  and  Boston  dur- 
ing Christmas  week  under  the  name  of  Mitchella  Jars, 
and  Christmas  Bouquets.  The  jars,  which  were 
globular  in  shape  and  which  ranged  from  a  quart  in 
capacity  up  to  three  and  four  quarts,  cost  from  fifteen 
to  thirty-five  cents  apiece.  When  filled  with  mitchella 
vines,  they  brought  from  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  to  two 
dollars. 

On  the  day  above  referred  to  they  set  out  to  gather 
more  vines,  and  they  told  the  people  at  home  that  they 
were  going  to  "  Dunham's  open  " — an  old  clearing  be- 
yond our  farther  pasture,  where  once  a  settler  named 
Dunham  had  begun  to  clear  a  farm.  The  place  was 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    235 

nearly  two  miles  from  the  old  Squire's,  and  as  the  girls 
did  not  expect  to  get  home  until  four  o'clock,  they  took 
their  luncheon  with  them. 

They  hoped  to  get  enough  mitchella  at  the  "  open  " 
to  fill  fifteen  jars,  and  so  took  two  bushel  baskets. 
Four  or  five  inches  of  hard-frozen  snow  was  on  the 
ground;  but  in  the  shelter  of  the  young  pine  and  fir 
thickets  that  were  now  encroaching  on  the  borders  of 
the  "  open  "  the  "  cradle  knolls  "  were  partly  bare. 

However,  they  found  less  mitchella  at  Dunham's 
open  than  they  had  hoped.  After  going  completely 
round  the  borders  of  the  clearing  they  had  gathered 
only  half  a  basketful.  Kate  then  proposed  that  they 
should  go  on  to  another  opening  at  Adger's  lumber 
camp,  on  a  brook  near  the  foot  of  Stoss  Pond.  She 
had  been  there  the  winter  before  with  Theodora,  and 
both  of  them  remembered  having  seen  mitchella  grow- 
ing there. 

The  old  lumber  road  was  not  hard  to  follow,  and 
they  reached  the  camp  in  a  little  less  than  an  hour. 
They  found  several  plats  of  mitchella,  and  began  in- 
dustriously to  gather  the  vine. 

They  had  such  a  good  time  at  their  work  that  they 
almost  forgot  their  luncheon.  When  at  last  they 
opened  the  pasteboard  box  in  which  it  was  packed, 
they  found  the  sandwiches  and  the  mince  pie  frozen 
hard.  Kate  suggested  that  they  go  down  to  the  lumber 
camp  and  kindle  a  fire. 

"  There's  a  stove  in  it  that  the  loggers  left  three 
years  ago,"  she  said.  "  We'll  make  a  fire  and  thaw  our 
lunch." 

"  We  have  no  matches !  "  Ellen  exclaimed,  when 
they  reached  the  camp. 

Inside  the  old  cabin,  however,  they  found  three  or 
four  matches  in  a  little  tin  box  that  was  nailed  to  a  log 
behind  the  stovepipe.  Hunters  had  occupied  the  camp 
not  long  before ;  but  they  had  left  scarcely  a  sliver  of 
anything  dry  or  combustible  inside  it;  they  had  even 


236    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

whittled  and  shaved  the  old  bunk  beam  and  plank  table 
in  order  to  get  kindlings.  After  a  glance  round,  Kate 
went  out  to  gather  dry  brush  along  the  brook. 

Running  on  a  little  way,  she  picked  up  dry  twigs 
here  and  there.  At  last,  by  a  clump  of  white  birches, 
she  found  a  fallen  spruce.  As  she  was  breaking  off 
some  of  the  twigs  a  strange  noise  caused  her  to  pause 
suddenly.  It  was,  indeed,  an  odd  sound — not  a  snarl 
or  a  growl,  or  yet  a  bark  like  that  of  a  dog,  but  a 
querulous  low  "  yapping."  At  the  same  instant  she 
heard  the  snow  crust  break,  as  if  an  animal  were  ap- 
proaching through  the  thicket  of  young  firs. 

More  curious  than  frightened,  Kate  listened  in- 
tently. A  moment  later  she  saw  a  large  gray  fox 
emerge  from  among  the  firs  and  come  toward  her. 
Supposing  that  it  had  not  seen  or  scented  her,  and 
thinking  to  frighten  it,  she  cried  out  suddenly,  "  Hi, 
Mr.  Fox!" 

To  her  surprise  the  fox,  instead  of  bounding  away, 
came  directly  toward  her,  and  now  she  saw  that  its 
head  moved  to  and  fro  as  it  ran,  and  that  clots  of  froth 
were  dropping  from  its  jaws.  Kate  had  heard  that 
foxes,  as  well  as  dogs  and  wolves,  sometimes  run  mad. 
She  realized  that  if  this  beast  were  mad,  it  would 
attack  her  blindly  and  bite  her  if  it  could.  Still  clutch- 
ing her  armful  of  dry  twigs,  she  turned  and  sped  back 
toward  the  camp.  As  she  drew  near  the  cabin,  she 
called  to  the  other  girls  to  open  the  door.  They  heard 
her  cries,  and  Ellen  flung  the  door  open.  As  Kate 
darted  into  the  room,  she  cried,  "  Shut  it,  quick !  " 

Startled,  the  other  two  girls  slammed  the  door  shut, 
and  hastily  set  the  heavy  old  camp  table  against  it. 

"  It's  only  a  fox!  "  Kate  cried.  "  But  it  has  gone 
mad,  I  think.  I  was  afraid  it  would  bite  me." 

Peering  out  of  the  one  little  window  and  the  cracks 
between  the  logs,  they  saw  the  animal  run  past,,  the 
camp.  It  was  still  yapping  weirdly,  and  it  snapped  at 
bushes  and  twigs  as  it  passed.  Suddenly  it  turned 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    237 

back  and  ran  by  the  camp  door  again.  Afterward  they 
heard  its  cries  first  up  the  slope  behind  the  camp,  and 
then  down  by  the  brook. 

"  We  mustn't  go  out,"  Kate  whispered.  "  If  it  were 
to  bite  us,  we,  too,  should  go  mad." 

There  was  no  danger  of  the  beast's  breaking  into 
the  camp,  and  after  a  while  the  girls  kindled  a  fire, 
thawed  out  their  luncheon  and  ate  it.  The  December 
sun  was  sinking  low,  and  soon  set  behind  the  tree  tops. 
It  was  a  long  way  home,  and  they  had  their  baskets  of 
mitchella  to  carry.  Hoping  that  the  distressed  creature 
had  gone  its  way,  they  listened  for  a  while  at  the  door, 
and  at  last  ventured  forth;  but  when  they  drew  near 
the  place  where  Kate  had  gathered  the  dry  spruce 
branches  they  heard  the  creature  yapping  in  the 
thickets  ahead.  In  a  panic  they  ran  back  to  the  camp. 

Their  situation  was  not  pleasant.  They  dared  not 
venture  out  again.  Darkness  had  already  set  in;  the 
camp  was  cold  and  they  had  little  fuel.  The  prospect 
that  any  one  from  home  would  come  to  their  aid  was 
small,  for  they  were  now  a  long  way  from  Dunham's 
open,  where  they  had  said  they  were  going,  and  where, 
of  course,  search  parties  would  look  for  them.  Kate, 
however,  remained  cheerful. 

"  It's  nothing !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  can  soon  get 
wood  for  a  fire."  Under  the  bunk  she  had  found  an 
old  axe,  and  with  it  she  proceeded  to  chop  up  the  camp 
table. 

"  The  only  thing  I'm  afraid  of,"  she  said,  "  is  that 
the  boys  will  start  out  to  look  for  us,  and  that  if  they 
find  our  tracks  in  the  snow,  they'll  come  on  up  here 
and  run  afoul  of  that  fox  before  they  know  it." 

"  We  can  shout  to  them,"  Ellen  suggested. 

Not  much  later,  in  fact,  they  began  to  make  the 
forest  resound  with  loud,  clear  calls.  For  a  long  while 
the  only  answer  to  their  cries  came  from  two  owls; 
but  Kate  was  right  in  thinking  that  we  boys  would  set 
out  to  find  them. 


238    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

Addison,  Halstead  and  I  had  been  up  in  Lot  32  that 
day  with  the  old  Squire,  making  an  estimate  of  timber, 
and  we  did  not  reach  home  until  after  dark.  Grand- 
mother met  us  with  the  news  that  the  girls  had  gone 
to  Dunham's  open  for  partridge-berry  vines,  and  had 
not  returned.  She  was  very  uneasy  about  them;  but 
we  were  hungry  and,  grumbling  a  little  that  the  girls 
could  not  come  home  at  night  as  they  were  expected 
to,  sat  down  to  supper. 

"  I  am  afraid  they've  lost  their  way/'  grandmother 
said,  after  a  few  minutes.  "  It's  going  to  be  very  cold. 
You  must  'go  to  look  for  them !  "  And  the  old  Squire 
agreed  with  her. 

Just  as  we  finished  supper  Thomas  Edwards,  Kate's 
brother,  came  in  with  a  lantern,  to  ask  whether  Kate 
was  there;  and  without  much  further  delay  we  four 
boys  set  off.  Addison  took  his  gun  and  Halstead  an- 
other lantern.  We  were  not  much  worried  about  the 
girls ;  indeed,  we  expect'ed  to  meet  them  on  their  way 
home.  When  we  reached  Dunham's  open,  however, 
and  got  no  answer  to  our  shouts,  we  became  anxious. 

At  last  we  found  their  tracks  leading  up  the  winter 
road  to  Adger's  camp,  and  we  hurried  along  the  old 
trail. 

We  had  not  gone  more  than  half  a  mile  when  Tom, 
who  was  ahead,  suddenly  cried,  "  Hark !  I  heard  some 
one  calling !  " 

We  stopped  to  listen ;  and  after  a  moment  or  two  we 
all  heard  a  distant  cry. 

"  That's  Kate !  "  Tom  muttered.  "  Something's  the 
matter  with  them,  sure !  " 

We  started  to  run,  but  soon  heard  the  same  cry 
again,  followed  by  indistinct  words. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  Tom  shouted. 

Again  we  heard  their  calls,  but  could  not  make  out 
what  they  were  trying  to  say.  We  were  pretty  sure 
now  that  the  girls  were  at  the  old  lumber  camp;  and 
hastening  on  to  the  top  of  the  ridge  that  sloped  down 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

toward  the  brook,  we  all  shouted  loudly.  Immediately 
a  reply  came  back  in  hasty,  anxious  tones : 

"  Take  care !    There's  a  mad  fox  down  here !  " 

"  A  what?  "  Addison  cried. 

"  A  fox  that  has  run  mad !  "  Kate  repeated. 

"  Where  is  he?  "  Halstead  cried. 

"  Running  round  in  the  thickets,"  Kate  answered. 
"  Look  out,  boys,  or  he'll  bite  you.  That's  the  reason 
we  didn't  come  home.  We  didn't  dare  leave  the 
camp." 

This  was  such  a  new  kind  of  danger  that  for  a  few 
moments  we  were  at  a  loss  how  to  meet  it.  Tom 
looked  about  for  a  club. 

"  It's  only  a  fox,"  he  said.  "  I  guess  we  can  knock 
him  over  before  he  can  bite  us." 

He  and  Addison  went  ahead  with  the  club  and  the 
gun;  Halstead  and  I,  following  close  behind,  held  the 
lanterns  high  so  that  they  could  see  what  was  in  front 
of  them.  In  this  manner  we  moved  down  the  brushy 
slope  to  the  camp.  The  girls,  who  were  peering  out  of 
the  door,  were  certainly  glad  to  see  us. 

"  But  where' s  your  '  mad  '  fox?  "  we  asked. 

"  He's  round  here  somewhere.  He  really  is,"  Kate 
protested  earnestly.  "  We  heard  him  only  a  little  while 
ago." 

Thereupon,  while  the  girls  implored  us  to  be  care- 
ful, we  began  to  search  about  by  lantern  light.  At  last 
we  heard  a  low  wheezing  noise  near  the  old  dam.  On 
bringing  the  lantern  nearer  we  finally  caught  sight  of 
an  animal  behind  the  logs.  It  was  a  fox  surely  enough, 
and  it  acted  as  if  it  were  disabled  or  dying.  While 
Halstead  and  I  held  the  lanterns,  Addison  took  aim 
and  shot  the  beast.  Tom  found  a  stick  with  a  pro- 
jecting knot  that  he  could  use  as  a  hook,  and  with  it  he 
hauled  the  body  out  into  plain  view.  It  was  a  large 
cross-gray  fox. 

"  Boys,  that  skin's  worth  thirty  dollars !  "  Tom  ex- 
claimed. 


240    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

"But  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  the  one  to  skin  it," 
Addison  said.  "  Don't  touch  it  with  your  hands, 
Tom." 

While  the  girls  were  telling  us  of  the  fox's  strange 
actions  we  warmed  ourselves  at  the  fire  in  the  camp 
stove,  and  then  all  set  off  for  home,  for  by  this  time  it 
was  getting  late  and  the  night  was  growing  colder. 

Halstead  led  the  way  with  the  two  lanterns;  Addi- 
son and  I,  each  shouldering  a  basket  of  mitchella, 
followed ;  Tom,  dragging  the  body  of  the  fox  with  his 
hooked  stick,  came  behind  the  girls.  It  was  nearly 
midnight  when  we  reached  home. 

Tom  still  thought  that  the  fox's  silvery  pelt  ought 
to  be  saved;  but  the  old  Squire  persuaded  him  not  to 
run  the  risk  of  skinning  the  creature. 


V 


CHAPTER    XXX 

WHEN    BEARS    WERE    DENNING   UP 


DESPITE  the  hard  times  and  low  prices,  the  old 
Squire  determined  to  go  on  with  his  lumber 
business  that  winter;  and  as  more  teams  were 
needed  for  work  at  his  logging  camp  in  the  woods,  he 
bought  sixteen  work-horses,  from  Prince  Edward 
Island.  They  had  come  by  steamer  to  Portland;  and 
the  old  Squire,  with  two  hired  men,  went  down  to  get 
them.  He  and  the  men  drove  six  of  them  home, 
hitched  to  a  new  express  wagon,  and  led  the  other  ten 
behind. 

The  horses  were  great,  docile  creatures,  with  shaggy, 
clumsy  legs,  hoofs  as  big  as  dinner  plates,  and  fetlocks 
six  inches  long.  Later  we  had  to  shear  their  legs,  be- 
cause the  long  hair  loaded  up  so  badly  with  snow. 
Several  of  them  were  light  red  in  color,  and  had 
crinkly  manes  and  tails ;  and  three  or  four  weighed  as 
much  as  sixteen  hundred  pounds  apiece.  Each  horse 
had  its  name,  age,  and  weight  on  a  tag.  I  still  remem- 
ber some  of  the  names.  There  was  Duncan,  Ducie, 
Trube,  Lill,  Skibo,  Sally,  Prince,  and  one  called 
William-le-Bon. 

They  reached  us  in  October,  but  we  were  several 
weeks  getting  them  paired  in  spans  and  ready  to  go 
up  into  the  woods  for  the  winter's  work. 

The  first  snow  that  fall  caught  us  in  the  midst  of 
"  housing-time,"  but  fine  weather  followed  it,  so  that 
we  were  able  to  finish  our  f armwork  and  get  ready  for 
winter. 

Housing-time !  How  many  memories  of  late  fall  at 
the  old  farm  cling  to  that  word!  It  is  one  of  those 

241 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

homely  words  that  dictionary  makers  have  overlooked, 
and  refers  to  those  two  or  three  weeks  when  you  are 
making  everything  snug  at  the  farm  for  freezing 
weather  and  winter  snow;  when  you  bring  the  sheep 
and  young  cattle  home  from  the  pasture,  do  the  last 
fall  ploughing,  and  dig  the  last  rows  of  potatoes ;  when 
you  bank  sawdust,  dead  leaves  or  boughs  round  the 
barns  and  the  farmhouse;  when  you  get  firewood 
under  cover,  and  screw  on  storm  windows  and  hang 
storm  doors.  It  is  a  busy  time  in  Maine,  where  you 
must  prepare  for  a  long  winter  and  for  twenty  degrees 
below  zero. 

At  last  we  were  ready  to  start  up  to  the  logging 
camp  with  the  sixteen  horses.  We  hitched  three  spans 
of  them  to  a  scoot  that  had  wide,  wooden  shoes,  and 
that  was  loaded  high  with  bags  of  grain,  harnesses, 
peavies,  shovels,  axes,  and  chains.  The  other  ten 
horses  we  led  behind  by  halters. 

Asa  Doane,  one  of  our  hired  men  at  the  farm,  drove 
the  three  spans  on  the  scoot ;  Addison  and  I  sat  on  the 
load  behind  and  held  the  halters  of  the  led  horses.  We 
had  often  taken  horses  into  the  woods  in  that  way,  and 
expected  to  have  no  trouble  this  time;  although  these 
horses  were  young,  they  were  not  high-spirited  or 
mettlesome.  We  started  at  daybreak,  and  expected,  if 
all  went  well,  to  reach  the  first  of  the  two  lumber 
camps  by  nine  o'clock  that  evening. 

We  had  a  passenger  with  us — an  eccentric  old 
hunter  named  Tommy  Goss,  with  his  traps  and  gun. 
He  had  come  to  the  farm  the  previous  night,  on  his 
way  up  to  his  trapping  grounds  beyond  the  logging 
camps,  and  as  his  pack  was  heavy,  he  was  g-lad  of  a  lift 
on  the  scoot.  Tommy  was  a  queer,  reticent  old  man ; 
I  wanted  him  to  tell  me  about  his  trapping,  but  could 
get  scarcely  a  word  from  him.  We  were  pretty  busy 
with  our  horses,  however,  for  it  is  not  easy  to  manage 
so  many  halters. 

The  air  was  very  frosty  and  sharp  in  the  early 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

morning;  but  when  the  sun  came  up  from  a  mild, 
yellow,  eastern  sky,  we  felt  a  little  warmer.  Not  a 
breath  of  wind  stirred  the  tree  tops.  The  leaves  had 
already  fallen,  and  lay  in  a  dense,  damp  carpet 
throughout  the  forest;  the  song  birds  had  gone,  and 
the  woods  seemed  utterly  quiet.  When  a  red  squirrel 
"  chickered  "  at  a  distance,  or  when  a  partridge  whirred 
up,  the  sound  fell  startlingly  loud  on  the  air. 

There  was,  indeed,  something  almost  ominous  in  the 
stillness  of  the  morning.  As  we  entered  the  spruce 
woods  beyond  the  bushy  clearing  of  the  Old  Slave's 
Farm,  Addison  cast  his  eye  southward,  and  remarked 
that  there  was  a  "  snow  bank  "  rising  in  the  sky. 
Turning,  we  saw  a  long,  leaden,  indeterminate  cloud. 
It  was  then  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

By  ten  o'clock  the  cloud  had  hidden  the  sun,  and  by 
noon  the  entire  sky  had  grown  dark.  The  first  breath 
of  the  oncoming  storm  stirred  the  trees,  and  we  felt  a 
piercing  chill  in  the  air.  Then  fine  "  spits  "  of  snow 
began  to  fall. 

"  It's  coming/'  Addison  said ;  "  but  I  guess  we  can 
get  up  to  camp.  We  can  follow  the  trail  if  it  does 
storm." 

At  the  touch  of  the  snow,  the  coats  of  the  horses 
ruffled  up,  and  they  stepped  sluggishly.  Asa  had  to 
chirrup  constantly  to  the  six  ahead,  and  those  be- 
hind lagged  at  their  halters.  The  storm  increased 
and  we  got  on  slowly.  By  four  o'clock  it  had  grown 
dark. 

Suddenly  the  horses  pricked  their  ears  uneasily,  and 
one  of  them  snorted.  We  were  ascending  a  rocky, 
wooded  valley  between  Saddleback  Mountain  and  the 
White  Birch  Hills.  The  horses  continued  to  show 
signs  of  uneasiness,  and  presently  sounds  of  a  tre- 
mendous commotion  came  from  the  side  of  the  hills  a 
little  way  ahead.  It  sounded  as  if  a  terrific  fight  be- 
tween wild  animals  was  in  progress.  The  horses  had 
stopped  short,  snorting. 


244    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

"  What's  broke  loose?  "  Addison  exclaimed.  "  Must 
be  bears." 

"  Uh-huh ! "  old  Tommy  assented.  "  Tham's  b'ars. 
Sounds  like  as  if  one  b'ar  had  come  along  to  another 
b'ar's  den  and  was  tryin'  to  git  in  and  drive  tother  one 
out.  B'ars  is  dennin'  to-night,  and  tham  as  has  put  off 
lookin'  up  a  den  till  now  is  runnin'  round  in  a  hurry  to 
get  in  somewhars  out  of  the  snow. 

"  A  b'ar's  allus  ugly  when  he's  out  late,  lookin'  for 
a  den,"  the  old  trapper  went  on.  "  A  b'ar  hates  snow 
on  his  toes.  Only  time  of  year  when  I'm  afraid  of  a 
b'ar  is  when  he  is  jest  out  of  his  den  in  the  spring,  and 
when  he's  huntin'  fer  a  den  in  a  snowstorm." 

Addison  and  I  were  crying,  "  Whoa !  "  and  trying  to 
hold  those  ten  horses.  Asa  was  similarly  engaged 
with  his  six  on  the  scoot.  Every  instant,  too,  the 
sounds  were  coming,  nearer,  and  a  moment  later  two 
large  animals  appeared  ahead  of  us  in  the  stormy  ob- 
scurity. One  was  chasing  the  other,  and  was  striking 
him  with  his  paw ;  their  snarls  and  roars  were  terrific. 

We  caught  only  a  glimpse  of  them.  Then  all  six- 
teen of  the  horses  bolted  at  once.  Asa  could  not  hold 
his  six.  They  whirled  off  the  trail  and  ran  down 
among  the  trees  toward  a  brook  that  we  could  hear 
brawling  in  the  bed  of  the  ravine.  They  took  the 
scoot  with  them,  and  in  wild  confusion  our  ten  led 
horses  followed  madly  after  them.  Bags,  harnesses, 
axes,  and  shovels  flew  off  the  scoot.  Halters  crossed 
and  crisscrossed.  I  was  pulled  off  the  load,  and  came 
near  being  trodden  on  by  the  horses  behind.  I  could 
not  see  what  had  become  of  old  Tommy  or  the  bears. 

Still  hanging  to  his  reins,  Asa  had  jumped  from  the 
scoot.  Addison,  too,  still  clinging  to  his  five  halters, 
had  leaped  off.  Before  I  got  clear,  two  horses  bounded 
over  me.  The  three  spans  on  the  scoot  dashed  down 
the  slope,  but  brought  up  abruptly  on  different  sides  of 
a  tree.  Some  of  them  were  thrown  down,  and  the 
others  floundered  over  them.  Two  broke  away  and 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    245 

ran  with  the  led  horses.  It  was  a  rough  place,  littered 
with  large  rocks  and  fallen  trees.  In  their  panic  the 
horses  floundered  over  those,  but  a  little  farther  down 
came  on  a  bare,  shelving  ledge  that  overhung  the 
brook.  Probably  they  could  not  see  where  they  were 
going,  or  else  those  behind  shoved  the  foremost  off  the 
brink;  at  any  rate,  six  of  the  horses  went  headlong 
down  into  the  rocky  bed  of  the  torrent,  whence  in- 
stantly arose  heart-rending  squeals  of  pain. 

It  had  all  happened  so  suddenly  that  we  could  not 
possibly  have  prevented  it.  In  fact,  we  had  no  more 
than  picked  ourselves  up  from  among  the  snowy  logs 
and  stones  when  they  were  down  in  the  brook.  Those 
that  had  not  gone  over  the  ledge  were  galloping  away 
down  the  valley. 

"  Goodness !  What  will  the  old  Squire  say  to  this  ?  " 
were  Addison's  first  words. 

After  a  search,  we  found  a  lantern  under  a  heap  of 
bags  and  harness.  It  was  cracked,  but  Asa  succeeded 
in  lighting  it ;  and  about  the  first  object  I  saw  with  any 
distinctness  was  old  Tommy,  doubled  up  behind  a  tree. 

"  Are  you  hurt?  "  Addison  called  to  him. 

"  Wai,  I  vum,  I  dunno !  "  the  old  man  grunted. 
"Wa'ntthatarib-h'ister!" 

Concluding  that  there  was  not  much  the  matter  with 
him,  we  hastened  down  to  the  brook.  There  hung  one 
horse — William-le-Bon — head  downward,  pawing  on 
the  stones  in  the  brook  with  his  fore  hoofs.  He  had 
caught  his  left  hind  leg  in  the  crotch  of  a  yellow  birch- 
tree  that  grew  at  the  foot  of  the  ledges.  In  the  brook 
lay  Sally,  with  a  broken  foreleg.  Beyond  her  was 
Duncan,  dead;  he  had  broken  his  neck.  Lill  was  cast 
between  two*  big  stones ;  and  she,  too,  had  broken  her 
leg.  Moaning  dolefully,  Prince  floundered  near  by. 
Another  horse  had  got  to  his  feet;  he  was  dragging 
one  leg,  which  seemed  to  be  out  of  joint  or  broken. 

Meanwhile  the  storm  swirled  and  eddied.  We  did 
not  know  what  to  do.  Asa  declared  that  it  was  useless 


246    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

to  try  to  save  Prince,  and  with  a  blow  of  the  axe  he 
put  him  out  of  his  misery.  Then,  while  I  held  the 
lantern,  he  and  Addison  cut  the  birch-tree  in  which 
William-le-Bon  hung.  The  poor  animal  struggled  so 
violently  at  times  that  they  had  no  easy  task  of  it; 
but  at  last  the  tree  fell  over,  and  we  got  the  horse's 
leg  free.  It  was  broken,  however,  and  he  could  not 
get  up. 

As  to  the  others,  it  was  hard  to  say,  there  in  the 
night  and  storm,  what  we  ought  to  do  for  them.  In 
the  woods  a  horse  with  a  broken  leg  is  little  better 
than  dead,  and  in  mercy  is  usually  put  out  of  its 
misery.  We  knew  that  the  four  horses  lying  there 
were  very  seriously  injured,  and  Asa  thought  that  we 
ought  to  put  an  end  to  their  sufferings.  But  Addison 
and  I  could  not  bring  ourselves  to  kill  them,  and  we 
went  to  ask  Tommy's  advice. 

The  old  man  was  pottering  about  the  scoot,  trying 
to  recover  his  traps  and  gun.  He  hobbled  down  to  the 
brink  of  the  chasm  and  peered  over  at  the  disabled 
animals ;  but  "  I  vum,  I  dunno,"  was  all  that  we  could 
get  from  him  in  the  way  of  advice. 

At  last  we  brought  the  horse  blankets  from  the  scoot 
and  put  them  over  the  suffering  creatures  to  protect 
them  from  the  storm.  In  their  efforts  to  get  up,  how- 
ever, the  animals  thrashed  about  constantly,  and  the 
blankets  did  not  shelter  them  much.  We  had  no  idea 
where  the  horses  were  that  had  run  away. 

At  last,  about  midnight,  we  set  off  afoot  up  the  trail 
to  the  nearest  lumber  camp.  Asa  led  the  way  with  the 
lantern,  and  old  Tommy  followed  behind  us  with  his 
precious  traps.  The  camp  was  nearly  six  miles  away; 
it  proved  a  hard,  dismal  tramp,  for  now  the  snow  was 
seven  or  eight  inches  deep.  We  reached  the  camp  be- 
tween two  and  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
roused  Andrews,  the  foreman,  and  his  crew  of  loggers. 
Never  was  warm  shelter  more  welcome  to  us. 

At  daybreak  the  next  morning  it  was  still  snowing, 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    247 

but  Andrews  and  eight  of  his  men  went  back  with  us. 
The  horses  still  lay  there  in  the  snow  in  a  pitiful  plight ; 
we  all  agreed  that  it  was  better  to  end  their  sufferings 
as  quickly  as  possible. 

We  then  went  in  search  of  the  runaways,  and  after 
some  time  found  them  huddled  together  in  a  swamp  of 
thick  firs  about  two  miles  down  the  trail.  We  captured 
them  without  trouble  and  led  them  back  to  the  scoot, 
which  we  reloaded  and  sent  on  up  to  camp  with  Asa. 
Addison  and  I  put  bridles  on  two  of  the  horses, — 
Ducie  and  Skibo, — and  rode  home  to  the  farm. 

It  was  dark  when  we  got  home,  and  no  one  heard  us 
arrive.  After  we  had  put  up  the  horses,  we  went  into 
the  house  with  our  dismal  tidings.  The  old  Squire  was 
at  his  little  desk  in  the  sitting-room,  looking  over  his 
season's  accounts. 

"  You  go  in  and  tell  him,"  Addison  said  to  me. 

I  dreaded  to  do  it,  but  at  last  opened  the  door  and 
stole  in. 

"  Ah,  my  son,"  the  old  gentleman  said,  looking  up, 
"  so  you  are  back." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  I,  "  but — but  we've  had  trouble,  sir, 
terrible  trouble." 

"  What !  "  he  exclaimed.   "  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  We've  had  a  dreadful  time.  Some  bears  came  out 
ahead  of  us  and  scared  the  horses !  "  I  blurted  out. 
"  And  we've  lost  six  of  them !  They  ran  off  the  ledges 
into  Saddleback  brook  and  broke  their  legs.  We  had 
to  kill  them." 

The  old  Squire  jumped  to  his  feet  with  a  look  of 
distress  on  his  face.  Addison  now  came  into  the  room, 
and  helped  me  to  give  a  more  coherent  account  of  what 
had  happened. 

After  his  first  exclamation  of  dismay,  the  old  Squire 
sat  down  and  heard  our  story  to  the  end.  Naturally, 
he  felt  very  badly,  for  the  accident  had  cost  him  at 
least  a  thousand  dollars.  He  did  not  reproach  us, 
however. 


248    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

"  I  have  only  myself  to  blame,"  he  said.  "  It  is  a 
bad  way  of  taking  horses  into  the  woods — leading  so 
many  of  them  together.  I  have  always  felt  that  it  was 
risky.  They  ought  to  go  separate,  with  a  driver  for 
every  span.  This  must  be  a  lesson  for  the  future." 

"  It  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  no  one  any  good,"  says 
the  proverb.  Our  disaster  proved  a  bonanza  to  old 
Tommy  Goss ;  he  set  his  traps  there  all  winter,  near  the 
frozen  bodies  of  the  horses,  and  caught  marten,  fishers, 
mink,  "  lucivees,"  and  foxes  by  the  dozen. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

CZAR    BRENCH 

THE  loss  of  Master  Joel  Pierson  as  our  teacher  at 
the  district  school  the  following-  winter,  was  the 
greatest  disappointment  of  the  year.  We  had 
anticipated  all  along  that  he  was  coming  back,  and  I 
think  he  had  intended  to  do  so ;  but  an  offer  of  seventy- 
five  dollars  a  month — more  than  double  what  our  small 
district  could  pay — to  teach  a  village  school  in  an  ad- 
joining county,  robbed  us  of  his  invaluable  services ;  for 
Pierson  was  at  that  time  working  his  way  through  col- 
lege and  could  not  afford  to  lose  so  good  an  opportunity 
to  add  to  his  resources  during  the  winter  vacation. 

We  did  not  learn  this  till  the  week  before  school  was 
to  begin;  and  when  his  letter  to  Addison  reached  us, 
explaining  why  he  could  not  come,  there  were  heart- 
felt lamentations  at  the  old  Squire's  and  at  the  Ed- 
wards farm. 

I  really  think  that  the  old  Squire  would  have  made 
up  the  difference  in  wages  to  Master  Pierson  from  his 
own  purse ;  but  the  offer  to  -go  to  the  larger  school  had 
already  been  accepted. 

As  several  of  the  older  boys  of  our  own  district 
school  had  become  somewhat  unruly — including  New- 
man Darnley,  Alf  Batchelder  and,  I  grieve  to  say, 
our  cousin  Halstead — the  impression  prevailed  that  the 
school  needed  a  "  straightener."  Looking  about  there- 
fore at  such  short  notice,  the  school  agent  was  led  to 
hire  a  master,  widely  noted  as  a  disciplinarian,  named 
Nathaniel  Brench,  who  for  years  had  borne  the  nick- 
name of  "  Czar  "  Brench,  owing  to  his  autocratic  and 
cruel  methods  of  school  government. 


250    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

I  remember  vividly  that  morning  in  November,  the 
first  day  of  school,  when  Czar  Brench  walked  into  the 
old  schoolhouse,  glanced  smilingly  round,  and  laid  his 
package  of  books  and  his  ruler,  a  heavy  one,  on  the 
master's  desk ;  then,  coming  forward  to  the  box  stove 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  he  warmed  his  hands  at  the 
stovepipe.  Such  a  big  man!  Six  feet  three  in  his 
socks,  bony,  broad-shouldered,  with  long  arms  and  big 
hands. 

He  wore  a  rather  high-crowned,  buff-colored  felt 
hat.  Light  buff,  indeed,  seemed  to  be  his  chosen  color, 
for  he  wore  a  buff  coat,  buff  vest  and  buff  trousers. 
Moreover,  his  hair,  his  bushy  eyebrows  and  his  short, 
thin  moustache  were  sandy. 

Beaming  on  us  with  his  smiling  blue  eyes,  he  rubbed 
his  hands  gently  as  he  warmed  them. 

"  I  hope  we  are  going  to  have  a  pleasant  term  of 
school  together/'  he  said,  in  a  tone  as  soft  as  silk. 
"  And  it  will  not  be  my  fault  if  we  don't  have  a  real 
quiet,  nice  time." 

We  learned  later  that  it  was  his  custom  always  to 
begin  school  with  a  beautiful  speech  of  honeyed  words 
— the  calm  before  the  storm. 

"Of  course  we  have  to  have  order  in  the  school- 
room," he  said  apologetically.  "  I  confess  that  I  like  to 
have  the  room  orderly,  and  that  I  do  not  like  to  hear 
whispering  in  study  hours.  When  the  scholars  go  out 
and  come  in  at  recess  time,  too,  it  sort  of  disturbs  me 
to  have  crowding  and  noise.  I  never  wish  to  be  hard 
or  unreasonable  with  my  scholars — I  never  am,  if  I 
can  avoid  it.  But  these  little  things,  as  you  all  know, 
have  to  be  mentioned  sometimes,  if  we  are  going  to 
have  a  really  pleasant  and  profitable  term. 

"  There  is  another  thing  that  always  make  me  feel 
nervous  in  school  hours,  and  that  is  buzzing  with  the 
lips  while  you  are  getting  your  lessons.  I  don't  like  to 
speak  about  it,  and  there  may  be  no  need  for  it,  but  lips 
buzzing  in  study  hours  always  make  me  feel  queer. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    251 

It's  just  as  easy  to  get  your  lessons  with  your  eyes  as 
with  your  lips,  and  for  the  sake  of  my  feelings  I  hope 
you  will  try  to  do  so. 

"  Speaking  of  lessons,"  he  went  on,  "  I  don't  believe 
in  giving  long  ones.  I  always  liked  short,  easy  lessons 
myself,  and  I  suppose  you  do." 

In  point  of  fact  he  gave  the  longest,  hardest  lessons 
of  any  teacher  we  ever  had !  We  had  to  put  in  three  or 
four  hours  of  hard  study  every  evening  in  order  to 
keep  up;  and  if  we  failed — 

By  this  time  some  of  the  larger  boys — Newman 
Darnley,  Ben  Murch,  Absum  Glinds  and  Melzar  Tib- 
betts — were  smiling  broadly  and  winking  at  one  an- 
other. The  new  master,  they  thought,  was  "  dead  easy." 

Later  in  the  morning,  when  the  bell  rang  for  the 
boys  to  come  in  from  their  recess,  Newman  and  many 
of  the  others  pushed  in  at  the  doorway,  pell-mell,  as 
usual.  Before  they  were  fairly  inside  the  room  the 
new  master,  calm  and  smiling,  stood  before  them. 
One  of  his  long  arms  shot  out;  he  collared  Newman 
and,  with  a  trip  of  the  foot,  flung  him  on  the  floor. 
Ben  Murch,  coming  next,  landed  on  top  of  Newman. 
Alfred  Batchelder,  Ephraim  Darnley,  Absum  Glinds, 
Melzar  Tibbetts  and  my  cousin,  Halstead,  followed 
Ben,  till  with  incredible  suddenness  nine  of  the  boys, 
all  almost  men-grown,  were  piled  in  a  squirming  heap 
on  the  floor ! 

Filled  with  awe,  we  smaller  boys  stole  in  to  our 
seats,  casting  frightened  glances  at  the  teacher,  who 
stood  beaming  genially  at  the  heap  of  boys  on  the 
floor. 

"  Lie  still,  lie  still,"  he  said,  as  some  of  the  boys  at 
the  bottom  of  the  pile  struggled  to  get  out.  "  Lie  still. 
I  suppose  you  forgot  that  it  disturbs  me  to  have  crowd- 
ing and  loud  trampling.  Try  and  remember  that  it 
disturbs  me." 

Turning  away,  he  said,  "  The  girls  may  now  have 
their  recess." 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

To  this  day  I  remember  just  how  those  terrified  girls 
stole  out  from  the  schoolroom.  Not  until  they  had 
come  in  from  their  recess  and  had  taken  their  seats  did 
Master  Brench  again  turn  his  attention  to  the  pile  of 
boys.  He  walked  round  it  with  his  face  wreathed  in 
smiles. 

"  Like  as  not  that  floor  is  hard,"  he  remarked.  "  It 
has  just  come  into  my  mind.  I'm  afraid  you're  not 
wholly  comfortable.  Rise  quietly,  brush  one  another, 
and  take  your  seats.  It  grieves  me  to  think  how  hard 
that  floor  must  be." 

There  were  at  that  time  about  sixty-five  pupils  in 
our  district,  ranging  in  size  and  age  from  little  four- 
year-olds,  just  learning  the  alphabet,  to  young  men 
and  women  twenty  years  of  age.  It  was  impossible 
that  so  many  young  persons  could  be  gathered  in  a 
room  without  some  shuffling  of  feet  and  some  noise 
with  books  and  slates.  Moreover,  boys  and  girls  un- 
used to  study  for  nine  months  of  the  year  are  not  al- 
ways able  at  first  to  con  lessons  without  unconsciously 
and  audibly  moving  their  lips. 

Buzzing  lips,  however,  were  among  the  seven 
"  deadly  sins "  under  the  regime  of  Czar  Brench. 
Dropping  a  book  or  a  slate,  wriggling  about  in  your 
seat,  whispering  to  a  seatmate,  sitting  idly  without 
seeming  to  study  and  not  knowing  your  lesson  reason- 
ably well  were  other  grave  offenses. 

Because  of  the  length  of  the  lessons,  there  were 
frequently  failures  in  class;  the  punishment  for  that 
was  to  stand  facing  the  school,  and  study  the  lesson 
diligently,  feverishly,  until  you  knew  it.  There  were 
few  afternoons  that  term  when  three  or  four  pupils 
were  not  out  there,  madly  studying  to  avoid  remaining 
after  school.  For  no  one  knew  what  would  happen  if 
you  were  left  there  alone  with  Czar  Brench ! 

He  seemed  to  care  for  little  except  order  and  strict 
discipline.  He  used  to  take  off  his  boots  and,  putting 
on  an  old  pair  of  carpet  slippers,  walk  softly  up  and 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    253 

down  the  room,  leisurely  swinging  his  ruler.  First 
and  last  that  winter  he  feruled  nearly  all  of  us  boys 
and  several  of  the  girls.  "  Little  love  pats  to  assist 
memory,"  he  used  to  say,  as  he  brought  his  ruler  down 
on  the  palms  of  our  hands. 

Feruling  with  the  ruler  was  for  ordinary,  miscel- 
laneous offenses ;  but  Czar  Brench  had  more  picturesque 
punishments  for  the  six  or  seven  "  deadly  sins."  If 
you  dropped  a  book,  he  would  instantly  cry,  "  Pick  up 
that  book  and  fetch  it  to  me !  "  Then,  when  you  came 
forward,  he  would  say,  "  Take  it  in  your  right  hand. 
Face  the  school.  Hold  it  out  straight,  full  stretch,  and 
keep  it  there  till  I  tell  you  to  lower  it." 

Oh,  how  heavy  that  book  soon  got  to  be!  And 
when  Czar  Brench  calmly  went  on  hearing  lessons  and 
apparently  forgot  you  there,  the  discomfort  soon  be- 
came torture.  Your  arm  would  droop  lower  and 
lower,  until  Czar  Brench's  eye  would  fall  on  you,  and 
he  would  say  quietly,  "  Straight  out,  there!  " 

There  were  many  terribly  tired  arms  at  our  school 
that  winter! 

But  holding  books  at  arm's  length  was  a  far  milder 
penalty  than  "  sitting  on  nothing,"  which  was  Czar 
Brench's  specially  devised  punishment  for  those  who 
shuffled  uneasily  on  those  hard  old  benches  during 
study  hours. 

"  Aha,  there,  my  boy!  "  he  would  cry.  "  If  you  can- 
not sit  still  on  that  bench,  come  right  out  here  and  sit 
on  nothing." 

Setting  a  stool  against  the  wall,  he  would  order  the 
pupil  to  sit  down  on  it  with  his  back  pressing  against 
the  wall.  Then  he  would  remove  the  stool,  leaving  the 
offender  in  a  sitting  posture,  with  his  back  to  the  wall 
and  his  knees  flexed.  By  the  time  the  victim  had  been 
there  ten  minutes,  he  wished  never  to  repeat  the  ex- 
perience. I  know  whereof  I  speak,  for  I  "  sat  on 
nothing  "  three  times  that  winter. 

Czar  Brench's  most  picturesque,  not  to  say  bizarre, 


254    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

punishment  was  for  buzzing  lips.  Many  of  us,  study- 
ing hard  to  get  our  lessons,  were  very  likely  to  make 
sounds  with  our  lips,  and  in  the  silence  of  that  school- 
room the  least  little  lisp  was  sure  to  reach  the  master's 
ear. 

"  Didn't  I  hear  a  buzzer  then?  "  he  would  ask  in  his 
softest  tone,  raising  his  finger  to  point  to  the  offender. 
"  Ah,  yes.  It  is — it  is  you!  Come  out  here.  Those 
lips  need  a  lesson." 

The  lesson  consisted  in  your  standing,  facing  the 
school,  with  your  mouth  propped  open.  The  props 
were  of  wood,  and  were  one  or  two  inches  long,  for 
small  or  large  "  buzzers." 

I  remember  one  day  when  six  boys — and  I  believe 
one  girl — stood  facing  the  school  with  their  mouths 
propped  open  at  full  stretch,  each  gripping  a  book  and 
trying  to  study !  Inveterate  "  buzzers  " — those  who 
had  been  called  out  two  or  three  times — had  not  only 
to  face  the  school  with  props  in  their  mouths  but  to 
mount  and  stand  on  top  of  the  master's  desk. 

If  Czar  Brench  had  not  been  so  big  and  strong,  the 
older  boys  would  no  doubt  have  rebelled  and  perhaps 
carried  him  out  of  the  schoolhouse,  which  was  the 
early  New  England  method  of  getting  rid  of  an  un- 
popular schoolmaster.  None  of  the  boys,  however, 
dared  raise  a  finger  against  him,  and  he  ruled  his  little 
kingdom  as  an  absolute  monarch.  At  last,  however, 
towards  the  close  of  the  term,  some  one  dared  to  defy 
him — and  it  was  not  one  of  the  big  boys,  but  our 
youthful  neighbor  Catherine  Edwards. 

That  afternoon  Czar  Brench  had  put  a  prop  in 
Rufus  Darnley,  Jr.'s  mouth.  Rufus  was  only  twelve 
years  old  and  by  no  means  one  of  the  bright  boys  of  the 
school.  He  stuttered  in  speech,  and,  being  dull,  had 
to  study  very  hard  to  get  his  lessons.  Every  day 
or  two  he  forgot  his  lips  and  "  buzzed."  I  think  he 
had  stood  on  the  master's  desk  four  or  five  times  that 
term. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    255 

It  was  a  high  desk ;  and  that  afternoon  Ruf us,  try- 
ing to  study  up  there,  with  his  mouth  propped  open, 
lost  his  balance  and  fell  to  the  floor  in  front  of  the 
desk.  In  falling,  the  prop  was  knocked  out  of  his 
mouth. 

At  the  crash  Czar  Brench,  who  had  been  hearing  the 
grammar  class  with  his  back  to  Ruf  us,  turned.  I 
think  he  thought  that  Ruf  us  had  jumped  down;  for, 
fearing  the  teacher's  wrath,  the  frightened  boy  scram- 
bled to  his  feet  and,  with  a  cry,  started  to  run  out  of 
school. 

With  one  long  stride  the  master  had  him  by  the  arm. 
"  I  don't  quite  know  what  I  shall  do  to  you/'  he  said, 
as  he  brought  the  boy  back. 

He  shook  Rufus  until  the  little  fellow's  teeth  chat- 
tered and  his  eyes  rolled ;  and  while  he  shook  him,  he 
seemed  to  be  reflecting  what  new  punishment  he  could 
devise  for  this  rebellious  attempt. 

To  the  utter  amazement  of  us  all,  Catherine,  who 
was  sitting  directly  in  front  of  them,  suddenly  spoke 
out. 

"Mr.  Brench,"  she  cried,  "you  are  a  hard,  cruel 
man!" 

The  master  was  so  astounded  that  he  let  go  of  Rufus 
and  stared  down  at  her.  "  Stand  up !  "  he  commanded, 
no  longer  in  his  soft  tone,  but  in  a  terrible  voice. 

Catherine  stood  up  promptly,  unflinching;  her  eyes, 
blazing  with  indignation,  looked  squarely  into  his. 

"  Let  me  see  your  hand,"  he  said. 

Instead  of  one  hand,  Catherine  instantly  thrust  out 
both,  under  his  very  nose. 

"  Ferule  me !  "  she  cried.  "  Ferule  both  my  hands, 
Mr.  Brench !  Ferule  me  all  you  want  to !  I  don't  care 
how  hard  you  strike !  But  you  are  a  bad,  cruel  man, 
and  I  hate  you !  " 

Still  holding  the  ruler,  Czar  Brench  gazed  at  her  for 
some  moments  in  silence;  he  seemed  almost  dazed. 

"  You  are  the  first  scholar  that  ever  spoke  to  me  like 


256    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

that/'  he  said  at  last.  A  singular  expression  had  come 
into  his  face;  he  was  having  a  new  experience.  For 
another  full  minute  he  stared  down  at  the  girl,  but  he 
apparently  had  no  longer  any  thought  of  feruling  her. 

"  Take  your  seat,"  he  said  to  her  at  last;  and,  after 
sending  the  still  trembling  Rufus  to  his  seat,  he  dis- 
missed the  grammar  class. 

Nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  happened  afterwards. 
There  were  but  three  weeks  more  of  school,  and  the 
term  ended  about  as  usual. 

The  school  agent  and  certain  of  the  parents  in  the 
district  who  believed  in  the  importance  of  rigid  dis- 
cipline wished  to  have  Czar  Brench  teach  there  an- 
other winter;  but  for  some  reason  he  declined  to  re- 
turn. At  the  old  Squire's  we  thought  that  it  was,  per- 
haps, because  he  had  failed  to  conquer  Catherine. 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

WHEN   OLD   PEG   LED  THE   FLOCK 

DURING  the  fifth  week  of  school  there  was  an 
enforced  vacation  of  three  or  four  days,  over 
Sunday,  while  the  school  committee  were  in- 
vestigating certain  complaints  of  abusive  punishment, 
against  Master  Brench. 

The  complaints  were  from  numbers  of  the  parents, 
and  concerned  putting  those  props  in  pupils'  mouths 
to  abolish  "  buzzing "  of  the  lips,  while  studying 
their  lessons ;  and  also  complaints  about  "  sitting  on 
nothing,"  said  to  be  injurious  to  the  spine.  The  affair 
did  not  much  concern  us  young  folks  at  the  old 
Squire's.  Indeed,  we  did  not  much  care  for  the  school 
that  winter.  Master  Brench's  attention  was  chiefly 
directed  to  keeping  order  and  devising  punishments 
for  violations  of  school  discipline.  School  studies  ap- 
peared to  be  of  minor  importance  with  him. 

It  was  on  Tuesday  of  that  week,  while  we  were  at 
home,  that  the  following  incident  occurred. 

Owing  to  our  long  winters,  sheep  raising,  in  Maine, 
has  often  been  an  uncertain  business.  But  at  the  old 
Squire's  we  usually  kept  a  flock  of  eighty  or  a  hun- 
dred. They  often  brought  us  no  real  profit,  but  grand- 
mother Ruth  was  an  old-fashioned  housewife  who 
would  have  felt  herself  bereaved  if  she  had  had  no 
woolen  yarn  for  socks  and  bed  blankets. 

The  sheep  were  already  at  the  barn  for  the  winter ; 
it  was  the  i2th  of  December,  though  as  yet  we  had  had 
no  snow  that  remained  long  on  the  ground.  We  were 
cutting  firewood  out  in  the  lot  that  day  and  came  in  at 
noon  with  good  appetites,  for  the  air  was  sharp. 

257 


258    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

While  we  sat  at  table  a  stranger  drove  up.  He  said 
that  his  name  was  Morey,  and  that  he  was  stocking  a 
farm  which  he  had  recently  bought  in  the  town  of 
Lovell,  nineteen  or  twenty  miles  west  of  our  place. 

"  I  want  to  buy  a  flock  of  sheep,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
called  to  see  if  you  have  any  to  sell." 

:'  Well,  perhaps,"  the  old  Squire  replied,  for  that 
was  one  of  the  years  when  wool  was  low  priced.  As 
he  and  Morey  went  out  to  the  west  barn  where  the 
sheep  were  kept,  grandmother  Ruth  looked  disturbed. 

'  You  go  out  and  tell  your  grandfather  not  to  sell 
those  sheep,"  she  said  after  a  few  minutes  to  Addison 
and  me.  "  Tell  him  not  to  price  them." 

Addison  and  I  went  out,  but  we  arrived  too  late. 
Mr.  Morey  and  the  old  Squire  were  standing  by  the 
yard  bars,  looking  at  the  sheep,  and  as  we  came  up  the 
stranger  said  : 

"  Now,  about  how  much  would  you  take  for  this 
flock — you  to  drive  them  over  to  my  place  in  Lovell  ?  " 

Before  either  Addison  or  I  could  pass  on  grand- 
mother Ruth's  admonition,  the  old  Squire  had  replied 
smilingly,  "  Well,  I'd  take  five  dollars  a  head  for 
them." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  old  gentleman  had  not  really 
intended  to  sell  the  sheep ;  he  had  not  thought  that  the 
man  would  pay  that  price  for  them,  because  it  was  now 
only  the  beginning  of  winter,  and  the  sheep  would 
have  to  be  fed  at  the  barn  for  nearly  six  months. 

But  to  the  old  Squire's  surprise  Mr.  Morey,  with  as 
little  ado  as  if  he  were  buying  a  pair  of  shoes,  said, 
"  Very  well.  I  will  take  them." 

Drawing  out  his  pocketbook,  he  handed  the  old 
Squire  ten  new  fifty-dollar  bills  and  asked  whether  we 
could  conveniently  drive  the  sheep  over  to  his  farm  on 
the  following  day.  In  fact,  before  the  old  Squire  had 
more  than  counted  the  money,  Mr.  Morey  had  said 
good-day  and  had  driven  off. 

Just  what  grandmother  Ruth  said  when  the  old 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    259 

gentleman  went  in  to  put  the  bills  away  in  his  desk,  we 
boys  never  knew;  but  for  a  long  time  thereafter  the 
sale  of  the  sheep  was  a  sore  subject  at  the  old  farm. 

The  transaction  was  not  yet  complete,  however,  for 
we  still  had  to  deliver  the  sheep  to  their  new  owner. 
At  six  o'clock  the  following  morning  Halstead,  Addi- 
son  and  I  set  out  to  drive  them  to  Lovell.  The  old 
Squire  had  been  up  since  three  o'clock,  feeding  the 
flock  with  hay  and  provender  for  the  drive ;  he  told  us 
that  he  would  follow  later  in  the  day  with  a  team  to 
bring  us  home  after  our  long  walk.  The  girls  put  us 
up  luncheons  in  little  packages,  which  we  stowed  in 
our  pockets. 

It  was  still  dark  when  we  started.  The  previous  day 
had  been  clear,  but  the  sky  had  clouded  during  the 
night.  It  was  raw  and  chilly,  with  a  feel  of  snow  in 
the  air.  The  sheep  felt  it ;  they  were  sluggish  and  un- 
willing to  leave  the  barn.  Finally,  however,  we  got 
them  down  the  lane  and  out  on  the  hard-frozen  high- 
way ;  Halstead  ran  ahead,  shaking  the  salt  dish ;  Addi- 
son  and  I,  following  after,  hustled  the  laggards  along. 

The  leader  of  our  flock  was  a  large  brock-faced  ewe 
called  Old  Peg.  She  was  known  to  be  at  least  eleven 
years  old,  which  is  a  venerable  age  for  a  sheep.  She 
raised  twin  lambs  every  spring  and  was,  indeed,  a  kind 
of  flock  mother,  for  many  of  the  sheep  were  either  her 
children  or  her  grandchildren.  Wherever  the  flock 
went,  she  took  the  lead  and  set  the  pace. 

So  long  as  we  kept  Old  Peg  following  Halstead  and 
the  salt  dish,  the  rest  of  the  sheep  scampered  after,  and 
we  got  on  well. 

We  had  gone  scarcely  more  than  a  mile  when,  owing 
to  a  too  hasty  breakfast,  or  the  morning  chill,  Halstead 
was  taken  with  cramps.  He  was  never  a  very  strong 
boy  and  had  always  been  subject  to  such  ailments. 
We  had  to  leave  him  at  a  wayside  farmhouse — the 
Sylvester  place — to  be  dosed  with  hot  ginger  tea.  At 
last,  after  losing  half  an  hour  there,  we  went  on  with- 


260    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

out  him;  Addison  now  shook  the  salt  dish  ahead,  and 
I,  brandishing  a  long  stick,  kept  stragglers  from  lag- 
ging in  the  rear. 

Three  persons  are  needed  to  drive  a  flock  of  a  hun- 
dred sheep ;  but  we  saw  no  way  except  to  go  on  and  do 
the  best  we  could.  Now  that  it  was  light,  the  sky 
looked  as  if  a  storm  were  at  hand. 

The  storm  did  not  reach  us  until  nearly  eleven 
o'clock,  however;  we  had  got  as  far  as  the  town  of 
Albany  before  the  first  flakes  began  to  fall.  Then  Old 
Peg  made  trouble.  Leaving  the  barn  and  going  off  so 
far  was  against  all  her  ideas  of  propriety,  and  now  that 
a  snowstorm  had  set  in  she  was  certain  that  something 
or  other  was  wrong.  She  looked  this  way  and  that, 
sometimes  turning  completely  round  to  look  at  the 
road.  Presently  she  made  a  bolt  off  to  the  left  and, 
jumping  a  stone  wall,  tried  to  circle  back  through  a 
field.  Part  of  the  flock  immediately  followed,  and  we 
had  a  lively  race  to  head  her  off  and  start  her  along  the 
road  again. 

Addison  abandoned  the  salt  dish, — it  was  no  longer 
attractive  to  the  sheep, — and  helped  me  to  drive  the 
flock.  At  every  cross  road  Peg  seemed  bent  on  taking 
the  wrong  turn.  In  spite  of  the  cold  she  kept  us  in  a 
perspiration,  and  we  did  not  have  time  even  to  eat  the 
luncheon  that  we  had  brought  in  our  pockets.  Old  Peg's 
one  idea  was  to  lead  the  flock  home  to  the  old  farm. 

By  hard  work  we  kept  the  sheep  going  in  the  right 
direction  until  after  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  By 
that  time  four  or  five  inches  of  snow  had  fallen.  It 
whitened  the  whole  country  and  loaded  the  fleeces  of 
the  sheep.  The  flock  had  begun  to  lag,  and  the  younger 
sheep  were  bleating  plaintively.  We  were  getting 
worried,  for  the  storm  was  increasing,  and  as  nearly 
as  Addison  could  remember  we  had  six  miles  farther 
to  go.  It  would  soon  be  night ;  the  forests  that  here 
bordered  the  road  were  darkening  already.  We  had 
no  idea  how  we  should  get  the  flock  on  after  dark. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    261 

Old  Peg  soon  took  the  matter  out  of  our  hands. 
She  had  been  plodding  on  moodily  at  the  head  of  her 
large  family  for  half  an  hour  or  more,  and  coming  at 
length  to  a  dim  cross  road  that  entered  the  highway 
from  the  woods  on  the  north  side,  she  turned  and 
started  up  it  at  a  headlong  run. 

How  she  ran!  And  how  the  flock  streamed  after 
her!  How  we  ran,  too,  to  head  her  off  and  turn  her 
back !  Addison  dashed  out  to  one  side  of  the  narrow 
forest  road  and  I  to  the  other.  But  there  was  brush 
and  swamp  on  both  sides.  Neither  of  us  could  catch 
up  with  Old  Peg.  Stumbling  through  the  snowy 
thickets,  we  tried  to  get  past  her  half  a  dozen  times, 
but  she  still  kept  ahead. 

She  must  have  gone  a  mile.  When  she  at  last 
emerged  into  an  opening,  we  saw,  looming  dimly 
through  the  storm  and  the  fast-gathering  dusk,  a  large, 
weathered  barn,  with  its  great  doors  standing  open. 

"  Well,  let  her  go,  confound  her ! "  Addison  ex- 
claimed, panting. 

Quite  out  of  breath,  we  gave  up  the  chase  and  fell 
behind.  Old  Peg  never  stopped  until  she  was  inside 
that  barn.  When  we  caught  up  with  the  rout,  she  had 
her  flock  about  her  on  the  barn  floor. 

"  Perhaps  it's  just  as  well  to  let  them  stay  overnight 
here,"  Addison  said  after  we  had  looked  round. 

Thirty  or  forty  yards  farther  along  the  road  stood  a 
low,  dark  house,  with  the  door  hanging  awry  and  half 
the  glass  in  the  two  front  windows  broken.  Evidently 
it  was  a  deserted  farm.  From  appearances,  no  one  had 
lived  there  for  years.  But  some  one  had  stored  a 
quantity  of  hay  in  the  mow  beside  the  barn  floor;  the 
sheep  were  already  nibbling  at  it. 

"  I  don't  know  whose  hay  this  is,"  Addison  said, 
"  but  the  sheep  must  be  fed.  The  old  Squire  or  Mr. 
Morey  can  look  up  the  owners  and  settle  for  it  after- 
wards." 

We  strewed  armfuls  of  the  hay  over  the  barn  floor 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

and  let  the  hungry  creatures  help  themselves.  Then 
we  shut  the  barn  doors  and  went  to  the  old  house. 

Every  one  knows  what  a  cheerless,  forbidding  place 
a  deserted  house  is  by  night.  The  partly  open  door 
stuck  fast;  but  we  squeezed  in,  and  Addison  struck  a 
match.  One  low  room  occupied  most  of  the  interior ; 
there  was  a  fireplace,  but  so  much  snow  had  come 
down  the  large  chimney  that  the  prospect  of  having  a 
fire  there  was  poor.  As  in  many  old  farmhouses,  there 
was  a  brick  oven  close  beside  the  fireplace. 

"  Maybe  we  can  light  a  fire  in  the  oven,"  Addison 
said,  and  after  breaking  up  several  old  boards  we  did 
succeed  in  kindling  a  blaze  there.  The  dreary  place 
was  not  a  little  enlivened  by  the  firelight.  We  stood  be- 
fore it,  warmed  our  fingers  and  munched  the  cold  meat, 
doughnuts  and  cheese  that  the  girls  had  put  up  for  us. 

But  the  smoke  had  disturbed  a  family  of  owls  in  the 
chimney.  Their  dismal  whooping  and  chortling,  heard 
in  the  gloom  of  the  night  and  the  storm,  were  uncanny 
to  say  the  least.  I  wanted  to  go  back  to  the  barn,  with 
the  sheep;  but  Addison  was  more  matter-of-fact. 

"  Oh,  let  them  hoot !  "  he  said.  "  I  am  going  to  stay 
here  and  have  a  fire,  if  I  can  find  anything  to  burn." 

While  poking  about  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  for 
more  boards  to  break  up,  he  found  a  battered  old 
wardrobe  with  double  doors  and  called  to  me  to  help 
him  drag  it  in  front  of  the  oven. 

"  Going  to  smash  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  going  to  sleep  in  it,"  said  he.  "  We'll  set  it  up 
slantwise  before  the  fire,  open  the  doors  and  lie  down 
in  it.  I've  a  notion  that  it  will  keep  us  warm,  even  if 
it  isn't  very  soft." 

The  wardrobe  was  about  four  feet  wide,  and,  after 
propping  up  the  top  end  at  an  easy  slant,  we  lay  down 
in  it,  and  took  turns  getting  up  to  replenish  the  blaze 
in  the  oven.  It  was  not  wholly  uncomfortable ;  but  any 
sense  of  ease  that  I  had  begun  to  feel  was  banished  by 
a  suspicion  that  Addison  now  confided  to  me. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    263 

"  I  don't  certainly  know  what  place  this  is,"  he  said, 
"  but  I'm  beginning  to  think  that  it  must  be  the  old 
Jim  Cronin  farm.  I've  heard  that  it's  over  in  this 
vicinity,  away  off  in  the  woods  by  itself.  If  that's  so," 
Addison  went  on,  "  nobody  has  lived  here  for  eight  or 
nine  years.  Cronin,  you  know,  kept  his  wife  shut  up 
down  cellar  for  a  year  or  two,  because  she  tried  to 
run  away  from  him.  Finally  she  disappeared,  and  a 
good  many  thought  that  Cronin  murdered  her.  Folks 
say  the  old  house  is  haunted,  but  that's  all  moonshine. 
Cronin  himself  enlisted  and  was  killed  in  the  Civil 
War.  By  the  way  those  owls  carry  on  up  the  chimney 
I  guess  nobody  ever  comes  here." 

That  account  quite  destroyed  my  peace  of  mind.  I 
would  much  rather  have  gone  out  with  the  sheep,  but  I 
did  not  like  to  leave  Addison.  I  got  up  and  searched 
for  more  fuel,  for  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  letting 
the  fire  go  out.  No  loose  boards  remained  except  an 
old  cleated  door  partly  off  its  hinges,  which  opened  on 
a  flight  of  dark  stairs  that  led  into  the  cellar.  We 
broke  up  the  door  and  took  turns  again  tending  the 
fire. 

"  Oh,  well,  this  isn't  so  bad,"  Addison  said.  "  But  I 
wonder  what  the  old  Squire  will  think  when  he  gets  to 
Morey's  place  with  the  team  and  finds  that  we  haven't 
come.  Hope  he  isn't  out  looking  for  us  in  the  storm." 

That  thought  was  disquieting;  but  there  was 
nothing  we  could  do  about  it,  and  so  we  resigned 
ourselves  to  pass  the  night  as  best  we  could.  The  owls 
still  hooted  and  chortled  at  times,  but  their  noise  did 
not  greatly  disturb  us  now.  After  a  while  I  dropped 
off  to  sleep,  and  I  guess  Addison  did,  too. 

It  was  probably  well  toward  morning  when  a  cry 
like  a  loud  shriek  brought  me  to  my  feet  outside  the 
old  wardrobe!  A  single  dying  ember  flickered  in  the 
oven.  Addison,  too,  was  on  his  feet,  with  his  eyes 
very  wide  and  round. 

"  I  say !  "  he  whispered.   "  What  was  that?  " 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

Before  I  could  speak  we  heard  it  again;  but  this 
time,  now  that  we  were  awake,  it  sounded  less  like  a 
human  shriek  than  the  shrill  yelp  of  an  animal.  The 
sounds  came  from  directly  under  us;  and  for  the  in- 
stant all  I  could  think  of  was  Cronin's  murdered  wife! 

Addison  had  turned  to  stare  at  the  dark  cellar  door- 
way, when  we  heard  it  yet  again — a  wild  staccato  yelp, 
prolonged  and  quavering. 

"  There  must  be  a  wolf  or  a  fox  down  there!  "  Ad- 
dison muttered  and  picked  up  a  loose  brick  from  the 
fireplace. 

He  started  to  throw  it  down  the  cellar  stairs,  when 
three  or  four  yelps  burst  forth  at  once,  followed  by  a 
rumble  and  clatter  below,  as  if  a  number  of  animals 
were  running  madly  round,  and  then  by  the  ugliest, 
most  savage  growl  that  ever  came  to  my  ears ! 

Addison  stopped  short.  "  Good  gracious ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  That's  some  big  beast.  Sounds  like  a  bear ! 
He'll  be  up  here  in  a  minute!  Quick,  help  me  stand 
this  wardrobe  in  front  of  the  doorway!  " 

He  seized  it  on  one  side,  I  on  the  other,  and  between 
us  we  quickly  stood  that  heavy  piece  of  furniture  up 
against  the  dark  opening.  Then,  while  I  held  it  in 
place,  Addison  propped  it  fast  with  the  door  from  the 
foot  of  the  chamber  stairs,  which  with  one  wrench  he 
tore  from  its  hinges. 

It  was  evidently  foxes,  or  bears,  or  both;  but  how 
they  had  got  into  the  cellar  was  not  clear.  We  started 
the  fire  blazing  again,  and,  standing  in  front  of  it, 
listened  to  the  uproar.  At  times  we  heard  yelps  in  the 
storm  outside,  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  decided 
that  there  must  be  some  other  way  than  the  stairs  of 
getting  into  the  cellar. 

After  a  while  it  began  to  grow  light.  Snow  was  still 
falling,  but  not  so  fast.  The  commotion  below  had 
quieted,  but  we  heard  a  fox  barking  outside  and  from 
the  back  window  caught  sight  of  the  animal  moving 
about  in  the  snow,  holding  up  first  one  foot  then  an- 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    265 

other.  Farther  away,  among  the  bushes  of  the  clear- 
ing, stood  another  fox;  and,  still  farther  off  in  the 
woods,  a  third  was  barking  querulously.  Tracks  in 
the  snow  led  to  a  large  hole  under  the  sill  of  the  house 
where  a  part  of  the  cellar  wall  had  caved  in. 

"  But  there's  a  bear  or  some  other  large  animal  down 
cellar,"  Addison  said.  "  You  watch  here  at  the  window." 

He  got  a  brick  and,  pulling  the  old  wardrobe  aside, 
flung  it  down  the  stairs  and  yelled.  Instantly  there 
was  a  clatter  below,  and  out  from  the  hole  under  the 
sill  bounded  a  big  black  animal,  evidently  a  bear,  and 
loped  away  through  the  snow. 

We  could  now  pretty  well  account  for  the  nocturnal 
uproar.  Bears  hibernate  in  winter,  but  are  often  out 
until  the  first  snows  come.  The  storm  had  probably 
surprised  this  one  while  he  was  still  roaming  about, 
and  he  had  hastily  searched  for  a  den. 

The  storm  had  abated,  and  we  decided  to  start  for 
Lovell  at  once.  We  gave  the  sheep  a  foddering  of  hay 
and  then  got  the  flock  outdoors.  Old  Peg  was  very 
loath  to  leave  the  barn,  and  we  had  to  drag  her  out  by 
main  strength.  Addison  went  ahead  and  tramped  a 
path  in  the  deep  snow.  Finding  that  there  was  no  help 
for  it,  Old  Peg  followed,  and  the  flock  trailed  after  her 
in  a  woolly  file  several  hundred  feet  long.  Flourishing 
my  stick  and  shouting  loudly,  I  urged  on  the  rear  of 
the  procession. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  we  met  the  old  Squire  with 
the  team  and  two  men  from  the  Morey  farm.  The  old 
gentleman  had  arrived  there  about  six  o'clock  the  night 
before  and  had  been  worried  as  to  what  had  become  of 
us.  He  must  have  passed  the  place  where  Old  Peg  had 
bolted  up  the  road  not  long  after  we  were  there";  but 
it  was  already  so  dark  that  he  had  not  seen  our  snow- 
covered  tracks. 

"  Well,  well,  boys,  you  must  have  had  a  hard  time 
of  it !  "  were  his  first  words.  "  Where  did  you  pass  the 
night?" 


266    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

"  At  the  old  Cronin  farm,  I  guess,"  Addison  replied. 

'*  That  lonesome  place !  "  the  old  Squire  exclaimed. 

"  It  was  slightly  lonesome,"  Addison  admitted  dryly. 

"  Did  you  see  a  ghost?  "  one  of  the  men  asked  with 
a  grin. 

"  Not  a  white  one/'  Addison  replied.  "  But  we  saw 
something  pretty  big  and  black.  There  were  owls  in 
the  chimney  and  foxes  in  the  cellar — also  a  bear.  I 
guess  that's  all  the  ghost  there  is.  But  there's  a  hay 
bill  for  somebody  to  pay ;  about  three  hundredweight, 
I  think." 

From  there  on,  with  the  men  to  help  us,  we  made 
better  progress,  and  before  noon  we  had  delivered  the 
flock  to  its  new  owner.  The  warm  dinner  that  we  ate 
at  the  Morey  farm  tasted  mighty  good  to  Addison  and 
me. 

We  never  saw  Peg  again ;  but  before  the  winter  had 
passed,  the  old  Squire  bought  another  small  flock  of 
sheep  from  a  neighbor. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 
WITCHES'  BROOMS 

THE  school  committee  finally  decided  that  Master 
Brench's  curious  methods  of  punishment  were 
not  actually  dangerous.  He  was  advised,  how- 
ever, to  discontinue  them;  and  school  went  on  again 
Monday  morning.  Six  or  seven  of  the  older  boys  re- 
fused to  come  back;  but  the  old  Squire  thought  we 
would  better  attend,  for  example's  sake,  if  for  no 
other  reason,  and  we  did  so.  During  Christmas  week, 
however,  we  were  out  several  days,  on  account  of  an 
order  for  Christmas  trees  which  had  come  up  to  us 
from  Portland.  I  still  remember  that  order  distinctly. 
It  ran  as  follows: 

"  Bring  us  one  large  Christmas  tree,  a  balsam  fir, 
fifteen  feet  tall,  at  least,  and  wide-spreading.  Do  not 
allow  the  tips  of  the  boughs  or  the  end  buds  to  get 
broken  or  rubbed  off. 

"  Bring  six  smaller  firs,  ten  feet  tall,  to  set  in  a  half 
circle  on  each  side  of  the  large  tree. 

"  Bring  us  also  a  large  box  of  *  lion's-paw/  as  much 
as  four  or  five  bushels  of  the  trailing  vines.  And  an- 
other large  box  of  holly,  carefully  packed  in  more  of 
the  same  soft  vines,  so  that  the  berries  shall  not  be 
shaken  off. 

"  And,  if  you  can  find  them,  bring  a  dozen  witches' 
brooms." 

The  order  was  from  the  superintendent  of  a  Sunday 
school  at  Portland.  This  was  the  winter  after  our  first 
memorable  venture  in  selling  Christmas  trees  in  the 
city,  when  we  had  left  the  two  large  firs  that  we  could 
not  sell  on  the  steps  of  two  churches.  The  Eastern 

267 


268    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

Argus  had  printed  an  item  the  next  day,  saying  that 
the  Sunday-school  children  wished  to  thank  the  un- 
known Santa  Claus  who  had  so  kindly  remembered 
them. 

I  suppose  we  should  hardly  have  given  away  those 
two  trees  if  we  could  have  sold  them;  and  my  cousin 
Addison,  who  was  always  on  the  lookout  to  earn  a 
dollar,  sent  a  note  afterward  to  the  Sunday  schools  of 
both  churches,  informing  them  that  we  should  be  very 
glad  to  furnish  them  with  Christmas  trees  in  future,  at 
fair  rates.  Not  less  than  five  profitable  orders  came 
from  that  one  gift,  which  did  not  really  cost  us  any- 
thing. 

"  What  in  the  world  are  *  witches'  brooms  '  ?  "  Ad- 
dison exclaimed,  after  reading  the  order.  Theodora 
echoed  the  query.  We  had  heard  of  witches'  broom- 
sticks, but  witches'  brooms  were  clearly  something  new 
in  the  way  of  Christmas  decorations.  But  what?  We 
looked  in  the  dictionary;  no  help  there.  We  asked 
questions  of  older  people,  and  got  no  help  from  them. 
Finally  we  went  to  the  old  Squire,  who  repeated 
the  query  absently,  "  Witches'  brooms  ?  Witches' 
brooms?  Why,  let  me  see.  Aren't  they  those  great 
dense  masses  of  twigs  you  sometimes  see  in  the  tops  of 
fir  trees?  It  is  a  kind  of  tree  disease,  some  say  tree 
cancer.  At  first  they  are  green,  but  they  turn  dead  and 
dry  by  the  second  year,  and  may  kill  that  part  of  the 
tree.  Often  they  are  as  large  as  a  bushel  basket.  I 
saw  one  once  fully  six  feet  in  diameter,  a  dry  globe  of 
closely  packed  twigs." 

We  knew  what  he  meant  now,  but  we  had 
never  heard  those  singular  growths  called  "  witches' 
brooms  "  before.  Unlike  mistletoe,  the  broom  is  not 
a  plant  parasite,  but  a  growth  from  the  fir  itself,  like 
an  oak  gall,  or  a  gnarl  on  a  maple  or  a  yellow  birch ; 
but  instead  of  being  a  solid  growth  on  the  tree  trunk, 
it  is  a  dense,  abnormal  growth  of  little  twigs  on  a 
small  bough  of  the  fir,  generally  high  up  in  the  top. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    269 

The  next  day  we  went  out  along  the  borders  of  the 
farm  wood  lot  and  cut  the  seven  firs;  then,  thinking 
that  there  might  be  a  sale  for  others,  we  got  enough 
more  to  make  up  a  load  for  our  trip  to  Portland. 

While  we  were  thus  employed,  Theodora  and  Ellen 
gathered  the  "  lion's-paw,"  on  the  knolls  by  the  border 
of  the  pasture  woods;  and  in  the  afternoon  we  cut  an 
immense  bundle  of  holly  along  the  wall  by  the  upper 
field. 

Holly  is  a  word  of  many  meanings;  but  in  Maine 
what  is  called  holly  is  the  winterberry,  a  deciduous 
shrub  that  botanists  rank  as  a  species  of  alder.  The 
vivid  red  berries  are  very  beautiful,  and  resemble 
coral. 

All  the  while  we  had  been  on  the  lookout  for 
witches'  brooms.  In  the  swamp  beyond  the  brook  we 
found  six,  only  two  of  which  were  perfect  enough  to 
use  as  decorations ;  at  first  we  were  a  little  doubtful  of 
being  able  to  fill  this  part  of  the  order.  There  was  one 
place,  however,  where  we  knew  they  could  be  found, 
and  that  was  in  the  'great  fir  swamp  along  Lurvey's 
Stream,  on  the  way  up  to  the  hay  meadows.  Addison 
mentioned  it  at  the  supper  table  that  evening ;  but  the 
distance  was  fully  thirteen  miles;  and  at  first  we 
thought  it  hardly  worth  while  to  go  so  far  for  a  dozen 
witches'  brooms,  for  which  the  Sunday  school  would 
probably  be  unwilling  to  pay  more  than  fifty  cents 
apiece. 

"  And  yet,"  Addison  remarked,  "  if  this  Sunday 
school  wants  a  dozen,  other  schools  may  want  some 
after  they  see  them.  What  if  we  go  up  and  get 
seventy-five  or  a  hundred,  and  take  them  along  with 
the  rest  of  our  load?  They  may  sell  pretty  well. 
Listen :  *  Witches'  brooms  for  your  Christmas  tree ! 
Very  sylvan !  Very  odd !  Something  new  and  unique ! 
Only  fifty  cents  apiece!  Buy  a  broom!  Buy  a 
witches'  broom ! ' 

The  girls  laughed.    "  What  a  peddler  you  would 


270    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

make,  Ad !  "  Ellen  cried ;  and  we  began  to  think  that 
the  venture  might  be  worth  trying. 

It  snowed  hard  that  night,  and  instead  of  going  up 
the  stream  on  the  ice  with  two  hand  sleds,  as  we  had 
at  first  planned,  Addison  and  I  set  a  hayrack  on  two 
traverse  sleds,  and  with  two  of  the  work-horses  drove 
up  the  winter  road.  Axes  and  ropes  were  taken,  feed 
for  the  team,  and  food  enough  for  two  days. 

The  sun  had  come  out  bright  and  warm ;  there  was 
enough  snow  to  make  the  sleds  run  easily,  and  we  got 
on  well  until  past  three  in  the  afternoon,  when  we  were 
made  aware  of  a  very  unusual  change  of  temperature, 
for  Maine  in  December.  It  grew  warm  rapidly; 
clouds  overspread  the  sky ;  a  thunderpeal  rumbled  sud- 
denly. Within  ten  minutes  a  thundershower  was  fall- 
ing, and  almost  as  if  by  magic,  all  that  snow  melted 
away.  We  were  left  with  our  rack  and  traverse  sleds, 
scraping  and  bumping  over  logs  and  stones.  Never 
before  or  since  have  I  seen  six  inches  of  snow  go  out 
of  sight  so  suddenly.  When  we  started,  the  earth  was 
white  on  every  hand,  and  the  firs  and  spruces  were 
like  huge  white  umbrellas.  In  a  single  hour  earth  and 
forest  were  black  again. 

But  matters  more  practical  than  scenery  engaged 
our  attention.  It  was  eight  miles  farther  to  the  fir 
swamp.  The  good  sledding  had  vanished  with  the 
snow ;  every  hole  and  hollow  was  full  of  water ;  it  was 
hard  to  get  on  with  our  team ;  and  for  a  time  we  hardly 
knew  what  course  to  follow. 

On  a  branch  trail,  about  half  a  mile  off  the  winter 
road,  there  was  another  camp,  known  to  us  as  Brown's 
Camp,  which  had  been  occupied  by  loggers  the  winter 
before.  Addison  thought  that  we  had  better  go  there 
and  look  for  witches'  brooms  the  next  day.  We 
reached  the  camp  just  at  dusk,  after  a  hard  scramble 
over  a  very  rough  bit  of  trail. 

Brown's  Camp  consisted  of  two  low  log  houses,  the 
man  camp  and  the  ox  camp,  and  dreary  they  looked, 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    271 

standing  there  silent  and  deserted  in  the  dark,  wet 
wilderness  of  firs. 

The  heavy  door  of  the  ox  camp  stood  ajar,  and  I 
think  a  bear  must  recently  have  been  inside,  for  it  was 
only  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  we  could  lead  or 
pull  the  horses  in.  Buckskin  snorted  constantly,  and 
would  not  touch  his  corn;  and  the  sweat  drops  came 
out  on  Jim's  hair.  We  left  them  the  lantern,  to  re- 
assure them,  and  closing  the  door,  went  to  the  man 
camp,  kindled  a  fire  in  the  rusted  stove,  then  warmed 
our  food,  and  tried  to  make  ourselves  comfortable  in 
the  damp  hut,  with  the  blankets  and  sleigh  robes  that 
we  had  brought  on  the  sleds. 

Tired  as  we  were,  neither  of  us  felt  like  falling 
asleep  that  night.  It  was  a  dismal  place.  We  wished 
ourselves  at  home.  Judging  by  the  outcries,  all  the 
wild  denizens  of  the  wilderness  were  abroad.  For  a 
long  time  we  lay,  whispering  now  and  then,  instead  of 
speaking  aloud.  A  noise  at  the  ox  camp  startled  us, 
and,  fearful  lest  one  of  the  horses  had  thrown  himself, 
Addison  went  hastily  to  the  door  to  listen.  "  Come 
here,"  he  whispered,  in  a  strange  tone. 

I  peeped  forth  over  his  shoulder,  and  was  as  much 
bewildered  as  he  by  what  I  saw.  Cloudy  as  was  the 
night,  glimpses  of  something  white  appeared  every- 
where, going  and  coming,  or  flopping  fitfully  about. 
There  were  odd  sounds,  too,  as  of  soft  footfalls,  and 
now  and  then  low,  petulant  cries. 

"  What  in  the  world  are  they  ?  "  Addison  muttered. 

Soon  one  of  the  mysterious  white  objects  nearly 
bounced  in  at  the  door,  and  we  discovered  it  was  a 
hare  in  its  white  winter  coat.  The  whole  swamp  was 
full  of  hares,  all  on  the  leap,  going  in  one  direction. 

Seizing  a  pole,  Addison  knocked  over  three  or  four 
of  them;  still  they  came  by;  there  must  have  been 
hundreds,  perhaps  thousands  of  them,  all  going  one 
way. 

At  a  distance  we  heard  occasionally  loud,  sharp 


272    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

squealings,  as  of  distress,  and  presently  a  lynx  that 
seemed  to  be  on  the  roof  of  the  ox  camp  squalled 
hideously.  Addison  took  the  gun  that  we  had  brought, 
and  while  the  hares  were  still  flopping  past,  tried  to  get 
a  shot  at  the  lynx.  But  he  was  unable  to  make  it  out 
in  the  darkness,  and  it  escaped. 

I  brought  in  one  of  the  hares.  I  had  an  idea  that 
we  might  add  a  bunch  of  them  to  our  load  for  Port- 
land ;  but  it  and  the  others  that  we  had  knocked  over 
were  too  lank  and  light  to  be  salable. 

For  an  hour  or  more  hares  by  the  dozen  continued 
to  leap  past  the  camp.  We  repeatedly  heard  lynxes,  or 
other  beasts  of  prey,  snarling  at  a  distance,  as  if  fol- 
lowing the  mob  of  hares.  Where  all  those  hares  came 
from,  or  where  they  went,  or  why  they  were  traveling 
by  night,  we  never  knew.  That  is  a  question  for 
naturalists.  The  next  morning,  when  we  went  out  to 
look  for  witches'  brooms,  there  was  not  a  hare  in  sight, 
except  those  that  Addison  had  killed. 

The  witches'  brooms  were  plentiful  in  the  fir  swamp 
along  the  stream ;  and  as  they  were  usually  high  up  in 
the  tree  tops  and  not  easily  reached  by  climbing,  we 
began  to  cut  down  such  firs  as  had  them.  At  that 
time  and  in  that  remote  place,  a  fir-tree  was  of  no  value 
whatever. 

Firs  are  easy  trees  to  fell,  for  the  wood  is  very  soft, 
but  they  are  bad  to  climb  or  handle  on  account  of  the 
pitch.  We  cut  down  about  fifty  trees  that  day,  and  left 
them  as  they  fell,  after  getting  the  one  or  more  witches' 
brooms  in  the  top.  Of  those,  we  got  eighty-two,  all 
told;  with  the  green  fir  boughs  that  went  with  them, 
they  pretty  nearly  filled  the  rack.  All  were  sear  and 
dry,  for  they  were  just  a  densely  interwoven  mass  of 
little  twigs,  but  they  contained  a  great  many  yellow 
flakes  of  dried  pitch.  In  two  of  them  we  found  the 
nests  of  flying  squirrels;  but  in  both  cases  the  squirrels 
"  flew  "  before  the  tree  fell,  and  sailed  away  to  other 
firs,  standing  near. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    273 

Altogether,  it  was  a  day  of  hard  work.  We  were 
very  tired — all  the  more  so  because  we  had  slept  hardly 
ten  minutes  the  preceding  night.  But  again  we  were 
much  disturbed  by  the  snarling  of  lynxes  and  the  un- 
easiness of  our  horses  at  the  ox  camp.  In  fact,  it  was 
another  dismal  night  for  us;  we  hitched  up  at  day- 
break, and  after  a  fearfully  rough  drive  over  bare  logs 
and  stones,  and  several  breakages  of  harness,  we 
reached  the  old  Squire's,  thoroughly  tired  out,  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

The  girls,  however,  were  delighted  with  our  lofty 
load  of  witches'  brooms.  In  truth,  it  was  rather 
picturesque,  so  many  of  those  great  gray  bunches  of 
intermeshed  twigs,  ensconced  amid  the  green  fir 
boughs  that  we  had  cut  with  them.  A  hall  or  a  church 
would  look  odd  indeed  thus  decorated. 

Cheered  by  a  good  supper,  we  made  ready  to  start 
for  Portland  the  next  morning.  During  the  night, 
however,  the  weather  changed.  By  daybreak  on  the 
twenty-third  considerable  snow  had  fallen,  and  we 
were  able  to  travel  this  time  on  snow  again.  We  had 
the  rack  piled  higher  than  before,  with  the  Christmas 
trees  and  the  boxes  of  lion's-paw  in  the  front  end,  and 
all  those  witches'  brooms  stacked  and  lashed  on  at  the 
rear.  The  load  was  actually  fourteen  feet  high,  yet 
far  from  heavy;  witches'  brooms  are  dry  and  light. 
A  northwest  wind,  blowing  in  heavy  gusts  behind  us, 
fairly  pushed  us  along  the  road.  We  got  on  fast, 
baited  our  team  at  New  Gloucester  at  one  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  and  by  dusk  had  reached  Welch's 
Tavern,  eleven  miles  out  of  Portland. 

Here  we  put  up  for  the  night ;  as  our  load  was  too 
bulky  to  draw  into  the  barn,  we  were  obliged  to  leave 
it  in  the  yard  outside,  near  the  garden  fence — fifty 
yards,  perhaps,  from  the  tavern  piazza. 

We  had  supper  and  were  about  to  go  to  bed,  when  in 
came  three  fellows  who  had  driven  up  from  the  city,  on 
their  way  to  hunt  moose  in  Batchelder's  Grant.  All 


274    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

three  were  in  a  hilarious  mood ;  they  called  for  supper, 
and  said  that  they  meant  to  drive  on  to  Ricker's 
Tavern,  at  the  Poland  Spring. 

There  was  a  lively  fire  on  the  hearth,  for  the  night 
was  cold  and  windy ;  the  newcomers  stood  in  front  of  it 
— while  Addison  and  I  sat  back,  looking  on.  The 
cause  of  their  boisterousness  was  quite  apparent; 
they  were  plentifully  supplied  with  whiskey.  Then, 
as  now,  the  "  Maine  law  "  prohibited  the  sale  of  in- 
toxicants ;  but  this  happened  to  be  one  of  the  numerous 
periods  when  the  authorities  were  lax  in  enforcing 
the  law. 

Soon  one  of  the  newly  arrived  moose  hunters  drew 
out  a  large  flask,  from  which  all  three  drank.  Turn- 
ing to  us,  he  cried,  "  Step  up,  boys,  and  take  a  nip !  " 
Addison  thanked  him,  but  said  that  we  were  just  going 
to  bed. 

"  Oh,  you'll  sleep  all  the  warmer  for  it.  Come,  take 
a  swig  with  us." 

We  made  no  move  to  accept  the  invitation. 

"Aw,  you're  temperance,  are  you?"  one  of  the 
three  exclaimed.  "  Nice  little  temperance  lads !  " 

"Yes,"  Addison  said,  laughing.  "But  that's  all 
right.  We  thank  you  just  the  same." 

The  three  stood  regarding  us  in  an  ugly  mood,  ready 
to  quarrel.  "If  there's  anything  I  hate,"  one  of  them 
remarked  with  a  sneer,  "  it's  a  young  fellow  who's  too 
much  a  mollycoddle  to  take  a  drink  with  a  friend,  and 
too  stingy  to  pay  for  one." 

We  made  no  reply,  and  he  continued  to  vent  of- 
fensive remarks.  The  landlord  came  in,  and  Addison 
asked  him  to  show  us  to  our  room.  The  hilarious  trio 
called  out  insultingly  to  us  as  we  ascended  the  stairs, 
and  when  the  hotel  keeper  went  down,  we  heard  them 
asking  him  who  we  were  and  what  our  lofty  load  con- 
sisted of. 

Half  an  hour  or  more  later,  we  heard  the  moose 
hunters  drive  off,  shouting  uproariously;  hardly  three 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    275 

minutes  afterward  there  was  a  sudden  alarm  below, 
and  the  window  of  our  room  was  illuminated  with  a 
ruddy  light. 

"Fire!    The  place  is  afire !"   Addison  exclaimed. 

We  jumped  up  and  looked  out.  The  whole  yard 
was  brilliantly  illuminated;  then  we  saw  that  our 
load  by  the  garden  fence  was  on  fire,  and  burning 
fiercely. 

Throwing  on  a  few  clothes,  we  rushed  downstairs. 
The  hotel  keeper  and  his  hostler  were  already  out  with 
buckets  of  water,  but  could  do  little.  The  load  was 
ablaze,  and  those  dry,  pitchy  witches'  brooms  flamed 
up  tremendously.  Fortunately,  the  wind  carried  the 
flame  and  sparks  away  from  the  tavern  and  barns,  or 
the  whole  establishment  might  have  burned  down. 
The  crackling  was  terrific;  the  firs  as  well  as  the 
witches'  brooms  burned.  Great  gusts  of  flame  and 
vapor  rose,  writhing  and  twisting  in  the  wind.  Any 
one  might  have  imagined  them  to  be  witches  of  the 
olden  time,  riding  wildly  away  up  toward  the  half- 
obscured  moon ! 

So  great  was  the  heat  that  it  proved  impossible  to 
save  the  rack  and  sleds,  or  even  the  near-by  garden 
fence,  which  had  caught  fire. 

That  disaster  ended  the  trip.  It  was  now  too  near 
Christmas  Day  to  get  more  large  firs,  to  say  nothing 
of  witches'  brooms ;  and  we  were  obliged  to  send  word 
to  this  effect  to  our  Portland  patrons.  The  next  morn- 
ing Addison  and  I  rode  home  on  old  Jim  and  Buck- 
skin, with  their  harness  tied  up  in  a  bundle  before  us. 
The  wind  was  piercing  and  bleak;  we  were  both  so 
chilled  as  to  be  ill  of  a  cold  for  several  days  afterward. 
The  story  that  we  had  to  tell  at  home  was  far  from 
being  an  inspiriting  one.  Not  only  had  we  lost  our 
load,  traverse  sleds  and  rack,  but  in  due  time  we  had  a 
bill  of  ten  dollars  to  pay  the  hotel  keeper  for  his  garden 
fence. 

We  always  supposed  that  those  drunken  ruffians 


276    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

touched  off  our  load  just  before  driving  away;  but  of 
course  it  may  have  been  a  spark  from  the  chimney. 

That  was  our  first  and  last  experience  with  witches' 
brooms. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

THE   LITTLE   IMAGE   PEDDLERS 

I  THINK  it  was  the  following  Friday  afternoon  that 
a  curious  diversion  occurred  at  the  schoolhouse,  just 
as  the  school  was  dismissed.  Coming1  slowly  along 
the  white  highway  two  small  boys  were  espied,  each 
carrying  on  his  head  a  raft-like  platform  laden  with 
plaster-of-Paris  images.  They  were  dark-complexioned 
little  fellows,  not  more  than  twelve  or  thirteen  years 
old ;  and  were  having  difficulty  to  keep  their  feet  and 
stagger  along  with  their  preposterous  burdens. 

The  plaster  casts  comprised  images  of  saints,  ele- 
phants, giraffes,  cherubs  with  little  wings  tinted  in 
pink  and  yellow,  a  tall  Madonna  and  Child,  a  bust  of 
George  Washington,  a  Napoleon,  a  grinning  Voltaire, 
an  angel  with  a  pink  trumpet  and  an  evil-looking  Tom 
Paine. 

I  suppose  the  loads  were  not  as  heavy  as  they  looked, 
but  the  boys  were  having  a  hard  time  of  it,  to  judge 
from  their  distressed  faces  peering  anxiously  from 
underneath  the  rafts  which,  at  each  step,  rocked  to 
and  fro  and  seemed  always  on  the  point  of  toppling. 
Frantic  clutches  of  small  brown  hands  and  the  quick 
shifting  of  feet  alone  saved  a  smash-up. 

The  master  was  still  in  the  schoolhouse  with  some 
of  the  older  boys  and  girls ;  but  the  younger  ones  had 
rushed  out  when  the  bell  rang. 

"  Hi,  where  are  you  going?"  several  shouted. 
"  What  you  got  on  your  heads?  " 

The  little  strangers  turned  their  faces  and,  nodding 
violently,  tried  to  smile  ingratiatingly.  Some  one  let 
fly  a  snowball,  and  in  a  moment  the  mob  of  boys, 

277 


278    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

shouting  and  laughing  noisily,  chased  after  them.  No 
harm  was  intended ;  it  was  merely  excess  of  spirits  at 
getting  out  from  school.  But  the  result  was  disastrous. 
The  little  fellows  faced  round  in  alarm,  cried  out 
wildly  in  an  unknown  tongue  and  then,  in  spite  of  their 
burdens,  tried  to  run  away. 

The  inevitable  happened :  one  of  them  stumbled,  fell 
against  the  other,  and  down  they  both  went  headlong 
with  a  crash.  The  tall  Madonna  was  broken  in  two ; 
Washington  had  his  cocked  hat  crushed;  the  cherubs 
had  lost  their  wings ;  and  as  for  the  elephants  and  the 
giraffes,  there  was  a  general  mix-up  of  broken  trunks 
and  long  necks. 

The  little  fellows  had  scrambled  to  their  feet,  and 
after  a  frightened  glance  set  up  wails  of  lamentation  in 
which  the  word  padrone  recurred  fast  and  fearfully. 
By  that  time  Master  Brench,  with  the  older  pupils, 
among  whom  were  my  cousins,  Addison,  Theodora  and 
Ellen,  had  come  out.  The  old  Squire,  too,  chanced  to 
be  approaching  with  a  horse  sled ;  often  of  late,  since 
the  traveling  was  bad,  he  had  driven  to  the  school- 
house  to  get  us. 

It  was  a  wholly  compassionate  group  that  now 
gathered  about  the  forlorn  itinerants.  Who  they  were 
or  whither  they  were  traveling  was  at  first  far  from 
clear,  for  they  could  not  speak  a  word  of  English. 

At  last  the  old  Squire,  touched  by  their  looks  of 
despair  and  sorrow,  decided  to  put  their  "  rafts  "  on 
the  horse  sled  and  to  take  the  little  strangers  home 
with  us  for  the  night. 

They  seemed  to  be  chilled  to  the  very  marrow  of 
their  bones,  for  they  hung  round  the  stove  in  the 
kitchen  as  if  they  would  never  thaw  out.  When  grand- 
mother Ruth  set  a  warm  supper  before  them,  they  ate 
like  starved  animals  and  cast  pathetic  glances  at  the 
table  to  see  whether  there  was  more  food.  Tears  stood 
in  grandmother's  eyes  as  she  replenished  their  plates. 

Little  by  little,  with  the  aid  of  many  signs  and 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    279 

gestures,  they  managed  to  tell  us  their  story.  A  pa- 
drone had  brought  them  with  nine  other  boys  from 
Naples  to  sell  plaster  images  for  him;  we  gathered 
that  this  man,  who  lived  in  Portland,  cast  the  images 
himself.  The  only  English  words  he  had  taught  them 
were  "  ten  cent,"  "  twenty-five  cent  "  and  "  fifty  cent  " 
— the  prices  of  the  plaster  casts. 

A  few  days  before,  in  spite  of  the  bitterly  cold 
weather,  he  had  sent  them  out  with  their  wares  and 
bidden  them  to  call  at  every  house  until  they  had  sold 
their  stock.  Then  they  were  to  bring  back  the  money 
they  had  taken  in.  He  had  given  a  package  of  dry, 
black  bread  to  each  of  them  and  had  told  them  to  sleep 
at  nights  in  barns. 

Sales  were  few,  and  long  after  their  bread  was  gone 
they  had  wandered  on,  not  daring  to  go  back  until 
they  had  sold  all  their  wares.  What  little  money  they 
had  taken  in  they  dared  not  spend  for  food,  for  fear 
the  padrone  would  whip  them!  Their  tale  roused 
no  little  indignation  in  the  old  Squire  and  grandmother 
Ruth. 

What  with  the  food  and  the  warmth  the  little 
Italians  soon  grew  so  sleepy  that  they  drowsed  off  be- 
fore our  eyes.  We  made  a  couch  of  blankets  for  them 
in  a  warm  corner,  and  they  were  still  soundly  asleep 
there  when  Addison  and  I  went  out  to  do  the  farm 
chores  the  next  morning. 

We  kept  the  little  image  peddlers  with  us  for  several 
days  thereafter.  In  fact,  we  were  at  a  loss  to  know 
what  to  do  with  them,  for  a  cold  snap  had  come  on. 
With  their  thin  clothes  and  worn-out  shoes  they  were 
in  no  condition  either  to  'go  on  or  to  go  back;  and, 
moreover,  now  that  their  images  were  broken,  they 
were  in  terror  of  their  padrone. 

One  of  the  boys  was  slightly  larger  and  stronger 
than  the  other;  his  name,  he  managed  to  tell  us,  was 
Emilio  Foresi.  The  first  name  of  the  other  was 
Tomaso,  but  I  have  forgotten  his  surname.  Tomaso, 


280    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

I  recollect,  had  little  gold  rings  in  his  ears.  His  voice 
was  soft,  and  he  had  gentle  manners. 

Under  the  influence  of  good  food  and  a  warm  place 
to  sleep  both  boys  brightened  visibly  and  even  grew 
vivacious.  On  the  third  morning  we  heard  Emilio 
singing  some  Neapolitan  folk-song  to  himself.  Yet 
they  were  shy  about  singing  to  us,  and  it  was  only 
after  considerable  coaxing  that  Theodora  induced 
them  to  sing  a  few  Italian  songs  together.  Halstead 
had  an  old  violin,  and  we  found  that  Tomaso  could 
play  it  surprisingly  well. 

By  carefully  sorting  our  reserve  of  worn  clothes  and 
shoes  we  managed  to  fit  out  the  little  strangers  more 
comfortably,  but  the  problem  of  what  to  do  with  them 
remained.  Grandmother  Ruth  thought  that  their  pa- 
drone might  trace  them  and  appear  on  the  scene. 

Several  days  more  passed ;  and  then  the  old  Squire, 
having  business  at  Portland,  decided  to  take  them  with 
him.  He  intended  to  find  this  Neapolitan  padrone  and 
try  to  secure  better  treatment  for  the  boys  in  the 
future. 

Addison  drove  them  to  the  railway  station,  where 
the  old  Squire  checked  their  empty  image  "  rafts  "  in 
the  baggage  car.  Before  they  left  the  old  farm,  first 
Emilio  and  then  Tomaso  took  grandmother  Ruth's 
hand  very  prettily  and  said,  with  deep  feeling,  "  Vi 
ringrazio,"  several  times,  and  managed  to  add  "  Tank 
you." 

After  his  return  from  Portland  the  old  Squire  told 
us  that  he  had  gone  with  the  lads  to  the  place  where 
they  lodged  and  had  taken  an  officer  with  him.  They 
found  the  padrone  in  a  basement,  engaged  in  casting 
more  images.  At  first  the  Italian  was  very  angry ;  but 
partly  by  persuasion,  partly  by  putting  the  fear  of  the 
law  into  his  heart,  they  made  him  promise  not  to  send 
his  boys  out  again  until  May. 

The  old  Squire  also  enlisted  the  sympathies  of  two 
women  in  Portland,  who  undertook  to  see  that  the 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    281 

boys  were  better  housed  and  cared  for  in  the  future. 
And  there  for  the  time  being  the  episode  of  the  little 
image  venders  ended. 

Twelve,  perhaps  it  was  thirteen,  years  passed. 
Addison,  Halstead,  Theodora  and  Ellen  went  their 
various  ways  in  life,  and  of  the  group  of  young  folks 
at  the  old  farm  I  alone  was  left  there.  The  old  Squire 
was  not  able  now  to  do  more  than  oversee  the  work 
and  to  give  me  advice  from  his  large  experience  of 
the  past. 

One  day,  late  in  October,  we  were  in  the  apple  house 
getting  the  crop  of  winter  apples  ready  for  market — 
Baldwins,  Greenings,  Blue  Pearmains,  Russets,  Orange 
Apples,  Arctic  Reds — about  four  hundred  barrels  of 
them.  We  were  sorting  the  apples  carefully  and  put- 
ting the  "  number  ones  "  in  fresh,  new  barrels. 

It  was  near  noon,  and  grandmother  Ruth  had  come 
out  to  say  that  our  midday  meal  would  soon  be  ready. 
She  remained  for  a  few  moments  and  was  counting  the 
barrels  we  had  put  up  that  forenoon,  when  the  door- 
way darkened  behind  her,  and,  looking  up,  we  saw  a 
stranger  standing  there — a  well-dressed,  rather  hand- 
some young  man  with  dark  hair  and  dark  moustache. 
He  was  looking  at  us  inquiringly,  smilingly,  almost 
timidly,  I  thought. 

"How  do  you  do?"  I  said.  "You  wanted  to  see 
some  one  here?  " 

He  came  a  step  nearer  and  said,  with  a  foreign 
accent,  "  I  ver  glad  see  you  again." 

Seeing  our  puzzled  looks,  he  went  on :  "I  tink 
maybe  you  not  remember  me.  But  I  come  here  one 
time,  when  snow  ver  deep.  Ver  cold  then,"  and  he 
shuddered  to  show  how  cold  it  was,  "  I  stay  here 
whole  week.  You  no  remember?  I  Emilio — Emilio 
Foresi." 

Now,  indeed,  we  remembered  the  little  image 
peddlers.  "  Yes,  yes,  yes ! "  the  old  Squire  cried. 

"Well,    I    never!     Can    it    be   possible?"    grand- 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

mother  Ruth  exclaimed.  "  Why,  you've  grown  up,  of 
course ! " 

Grown  up,  in  good  truth,  and  a  very  prosperous- 
looking  young  man  was  Emilio.  He  evidently  remem- 
bered well  his  sojourn  with  us  years  ago,  and,  more- 
over, remembered  it  with  pleasure ;  for  now  he  grasped 
the  old  Squire's  hand  warmly  and  then,  laughing  joy- 
ously, held  grandmother  Ruth's  in  both  his  own. 

"  But  where  have  you  been  all  this  time?  "  the  old 
Squire  exclaimed. 

"  I  live  now  in  Boston.  Not  long  did  I  sell  the 
images.  I  leave  my  padrone.  He  was  hard  man,  not 
so  ver  bad,  but  ver  poor.  Then  I  have  a  cart  and  sell 
fruit,  banan,  orange,  apple,  in  de  street,  four  year. 
After  that  I  have  fruit  stand  on  Tremont  Street  three 
year.  I  do  ver  well,  and  have  five  fruit  stands;  and 
now  I  buy  apples  to  send  to  Genoa  and  Messina." 

"  But  Tomaso,  where's  little  Tomaso  ? "  grand- 
mother Ruth  exclaimed. 

Emilio's  face  saddened.  "  Tomaso  he  die,"  said  he 
and  shook  his  head.  "  He  tak  bad  colds  and  have 
cough  two  year.  Doctors  said  he  have  no  chance  in 
dis  climate.  I  send  him  home  to  Napoli,  and  he  die. 
But  America  fine  place,"  Emilio  added,  as  if  defending 
our  climate.  "  Good  country.  Everybody  do  well  here." 

We  had  Emilio  as  a  guest  at  our  midday  meal  that 
day — quite  a  different  Emilio  from  the  pinched  little 
fellow  of  thirteen  years  before.  He  glanced  round  the 
old  dining-room. 

"  Here  where  I  sit  dat  first  night !  "  he  cried,  laugh- 
ing like  a  boy.  "  Big  old  clock  right  over  there, 
Tomaso  dis  side  of  me,  and  young,  kind,  pretty  girl 
on  other  side.  All. smile  so  kind  to  us;  and  oh,  how 
good  dat  warm,  nice  food  taste,  we  so  hongry !  " 

He  remembered  every  detail  of  his  stay.  The  red 
apples  that  we  had  given  him  seemed  to  have  im- 
pressed him  especially;  neither  of  the  boys  had  ever 
eaten  an  apple  before. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    28S 

Whole  big  basketful  you  fetch  up  from  de  cellar 
and  say  tak  all  you  want,"  he  ran  on,  still  laughing. 
"  Naver  any  apple  taste  like  dose,  so  beeg,  so  red !  " 

As  we  sat  and  talked  he  told  us  of  his  present  busi- 
ness and  how  he  had  tried  the  then  novel  experiment 
of  shipping  small  lots  of  New  England  apples  to  Italy. 
There  had  been  doubt  whether  the  apples  would  bear 
the  voyage  and  arrive  in  sound  condition,  but  he  had 
no  trouble  when  the  fruit  was  carefully  selected  and 
well  put  up.  That  led  him  to  inquire  about  our  apple 
crop  and  to  explain  that  that  was  perhaps  one  of  the 
reasons — not  the  only  one — for  his  visit. 

"  I  know  you  raise  good  apples,"  he  said.  "  I  like  to 
buy  them." 

We  told  him  how  many  we  had,  and  he  asked  what 
price  we  expected  to  get.  We  answered  that  the  local 
dealers  had  already  fixed  the  price  that  fall  at  two 
dollars  a  barrel. 

"  I  will  pay  you  two  dollars  and  a  half,"  Emilio  said 
without  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"  But,  Emilio,"  the  old  Squire  put  in,  "  we  couldn't 
ask  more  than  the  market  price." 

"  Ah,  but  you  have  good  apples !  "  he  replied.  "  I 
know  how  dose  apples  taste,  and  I  know  dey  will  be 
well  barreled.  No  wormy  apples,  no  bruised  apples. 
Dey  worf  more  because  good  honest  man  put  dem  up. 
I  pay  you  two  fifty." 

We  shipped  the  entire  lot  to  him  the  following  week 
and  received  prompt  payment.  Incidentally,  we 
learned  that  Foresi's  rating  as  a  business  man  was 
high,  and  that  he  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  an 
honorable  dealer.  For  many  years — as  long  as  he  was 
in  the  business,  in  fact — we  sent  him  choice  lots  of 
winter  fruit,  for  which  he  always  insisted  on  paying 
a  price  considerably  in  advance  of  the  market  quota- 
tions. 


CHAPTER    XXXV 

A    JANUARY    THAW 

JUST  before  school  closed  a  disagreeable  incident 
occurred. 
It  was  one  of  the  few  times  that  the  old  Squire 
really  reproved  us  sternly.     Often,  of  course,  he  had 
to  caution  us  a  little,  or  speak  to  us  about  our  conduct ; 
but  he  usually  did  it  in  an  easy,  tolerant  way,  end- 
ing with  a  laugh  or  a  joke.    But  that  time  he  was  in 
earnest. 

He  had  come  home  that  night  just  at  dark  from 
Three  Rivers,  in  Canada,  where  he  was  engaged  in  a 
lumbering  enterprise.  He  had  been  gone  a  fortnight, 
and  during  his  absence  Addison,  Halstead  and  I  had 
been  doing  the  farm  chores.  The  drive  from  the  rail- 
way station  on  that  bleak  January  afternoon  had 
chilled  the  old  gentleman,  and  he  went  directly  into  the 
sitting-room  to  get  warm.  So  it  was  not  until  he  came 
out  to  sit  down  to  supper  with  us  that  he  noticed  a 
vacant  chair  at  table. 

"  Where  is  Halstead?  "  he  asked.  "  Isn't  Halstead 
at  home  ?  " 

No  one  answered  at  first ;  none  of  us  liked  to  tell  him 
what  had  happened.  We  had  always  found  our  cousin 
Halstead  hard  to  get  on  with.  Lately  he  had  been 
complaining  to  us  that  he  ought  to  be  paid  wages  for 
his  labor,  when,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  what  he  did  at  the 
farm  never  half  repaid  the  old  Squire  for  his  board, 
clothes  and  the  trouble  he  gave.  During  the  old 
gentleman's  absence  that  winter  Halstead  had  become 
worse  than  ever  and  had  also  begun  making  trouble  at 
the  district  school. 

284 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    285 

His  special  crony  at  school  was  Alfred  Batchelder, 
who  had  an  extremely  bad  influence  on  him.  Alfred 
was  a  genius  at  instigating  mischief,  and  he  and  Hal- 
stead  played  an  odious  prank  at  the  schoolhouse,  as  a 
result  of  which  the  school  committee  suspended  them 
for  three  weeks. 

That  was  unfortunate,  for  it  turned  the  boys  loose 
to  run  about  in  company.  Usually  they  quarreled  by 
the  time  they  had  been  together  half  a  day;  but  this 
time  there  seemed  to  be  a  special  bond  between  them, 
and  they  hatched  a  secret  project  to  go  off  trapping 
up  in  the  great  woods.  They  intended  to  stay  until 
spring,  when  they  would  reappear  with  five  hundred 
dollar's  worth  of  fur! 

Addison  and  I  guessed  that  something  of  the  sort 
was  in  the  wind,  for  we  noticed  that  Halstead  was 
collecting  old  traps  and  that  he  was  oiling  a  gun  he 
called  his.  We  also  missed  two  thick  horse  blankets 
from  the  stable  and  a  large  hand  sled.  A  frozen 
quarter  of  beef  also  disappeared  from  the  wagon- 
house  chamber. 

"  Let  him  go,  and  good  riddance,"  Addison  said, 
and  we  decided  not  to  tell  grandmother  or  the  girls 
what  we  suspected.  In  fact,  I  fear  that  we  hoped  Hal- 
stead  would  go. 

The  following  Friday  afternoon  while  the  rest  of  us 
were  at  school  both  boys  disappeared.  That  evening 
Mrs.  Batchelder  sent  over  to  inquire  whether  Alfred 
was  at  our  house.  Halstead,  to  his  credit,  had  shown 
that  he  did  not  wish  grandmother  to  worry  about  him. 
Shortly  before  two  o'clock  that  afternoon,  he  had  come 
hastily  to  the  sitting-room  door,  and  said,  "  Good-by, 
gram.  I'm  going  away  for  a  spell.  Don't  worry." 
Then,  shutting  the  door,  he  had  run  off  before  she 
could  reply  or  ask  a  question. 

When  we  got  home  from  school  that  night,  Addison 
and  I  found  traces  of  the  runaways.  There  had  been 
rain  the  week  before,  followed  by  a  hard  freeze  and 


286    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

snow  squalls,  which  had  left  a  film  of  light  snow  on 
the  hard  crust  beneath.  At  the  rear  of  the  west  barn 
we  found  the  tracks  of  a  hand  sled  leading  off  across 
the  fields  toward  the  woods. 

"  Gone  hunting,  I  guess,"  said  Addison.  "  They  are 
probably  heading  for  the  Old  Slave's  Farm,  or  for 
Adger's  lumber  camp.  Let  them  go.  They'll  be  sick 
to  death  of  it  in  a  week." 

I  felt  much  the  same  about  it ;  but  grandmother  and 
Theodora  were  not  a  little  disturbed.  Ellen,  however, 
sided  with  Addison.  "  Halse  will  be  back  by  to- 
morrow night,"  she  said.  "  He  and  Alfred  will  have 
a  spat  by  that  time." 

Saturday  and  Sunday  passed,  however,  and  then  all 
the  following  week,  with  no  word  from  them. 

On  Tuesday  evening,  when  they  had  been  gone 
eleven  days,  Mrs.  Batchelder  hastened  in  with  alarm- 
ing news  for  us.  She  had  had  a  letter  from  Alfred, 
she  said,  written  from  Berlin  Falls  in  New  Hampshire, 
where  he  had  gone  to  work  in  a  mill ;  but  he  had  not 
said  one  word  about  Halstead ! 

"  I  don't  think  they  could  have  gone  off  together," 
she  said,  and  she  read  Alfred's  letter  aloud  to  us,  or 
seemed  to  do  so,  but  did  not  hand  it  to  any  of  us  to 
read. 

We  had  never  trusted  Mrs.  Batchelder  implicitly; 
and  a  long  time  afterwards  it  came  out  that  there  was 
one  sentence  in  that  letter  that  she  had  not  read  to  us. 
It  was  this  :  "  Don't  say  anything  to  any  of  them  about 
Halstead."  Guessing  that  there  had  been  trouble  of 
some  kind  between  the  boys,  she  was  frightened;  to 
shield  Alfred  she  had  hurried  over  with  the  letter,  and 
had  tried  to  make  us  believe  that  the  boys  had  not  gone 
off  together. 

Addison  and  I  still  thought  that  the  boys  had  set  out 
in  company,  though  we  did  not  know  what  to  make  of 
Alfred's  letter.  We  were  waiting  in  that  disturbed 
state  of  mind,  hoping  to  hear  something  from  Alfred 


THE    OLD    SQUIRE    REPROVED    US    STERNLY 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    287 

that  would  clear  up  the  mystery,  when* the  old  Squire 
came  home. 

"  He  has  gone  away,  sir,"  Addison  said  at  last,  when 
the  old  gentleman  inquired  for  Halstead  at  supper. 

"Gone  away?  Where?  What  for?  "  the  old  gentle- 
man asked  in  much  astonishment ;  and  then  the  whole 
story  had  to  be  told  him. 

The  old  Squire  heard  it  through  without  saying 
much.  When  we  had  finished,  he  asked,  "  Did  you 
know  that  Halstead  meant  to  go  away?  " 

"  We  did  not  know  for  certain,  sir,"  Addison  re- 
plied. 

"  Still,  you  both  knew  something  about  it?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Did  either  one  of  you  do  anything  to  prevent  it?  " 

We  had  to  admit  that  we  had  done  nothing. 

The  old  Squire  regarded  us  a  moment  or  two  in 
silence. 

"  In  one  of  the  oldest  narratives  of  life  that  have 
come  down  to  us,"  he  said  at  last,  "  we  read  that  there 
were  once  two  brothers  living  together,  who  did  not 
agree  and  who  often  fell  out.  After  a  time  one  of 
them  disappeared,  and  when  the  other — his  name  was 
Cain — was  asked  what  had  become  of  his  brother,  he 
replied,  '  Am  I  my  brother's  keeper  ?  ' 

"  In  this  world  we  all  have  to  be  our  brothers' 
keepers,"  the  old  Squire  continued.  "  We  are  all  to  a 
degree  responsible  for  the  good  behavior  and  safety  of 
our  fellow  beings.  If  we  shirk  that  duty,  troubles 
come  and  crimes  are  committed  that  might  have  been 
prevented.  Especially  in  a  family  like  ours,  each 
ought  to  have  the  good  of  all  at  heart  and  do  his  best 
to  make  things  go  right." 

That  was  a  great  deal  for  the  old  Squire  to  say  to 
us.  Addison  and  I  saw  just  where  we  had  shirked  and 
where  we  had  let  temper  and  resentment  influence  us. 
Scarcely  another  word  was  said  at  table.  It  was  one 
of  those  times  of  self -searching  and  reflection  that 


288    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

occasionally  come  unbidden  in  every  family  circle. 
The  old  Squire  went  into  the  sitting-room  to  think  it 
over  and  to  learn  what  he  could  from  grandmother. 
He  was  very  tired,  and  I  am  afraid  he  felt  somewhat 
discouraged  about  us. 

Addison  and  I  went  up  to  our  room  early  that 
evening.  We  exchanged  scarcely  a  word  as  we  went 
gloomily  to  bed.  We  knew  that  we  were  to  blame ;  but 
we  also  felt  tremendously  indignant  with  Halstead. 

Very  early  the  next  morning,  however,  long  before 
it  was  light,  Addison  roused  me. 

,"  Wake  up,"  he  said.    "  Let's  go  see  if  we  can  find 
that  noodle  of  ours  and  get  him  back  home." 

It  was  cold  and  dark  and  dreary;  one  of  those 
miserable,  shivery  mornings  when  you  hate  to  stir  out 
of  bed.  But  I  got  up,  for  I  agreed  with  Addison  that 
we  ought  to  look  for  Halstead. 

After  dabbling  our  faces  in  ice-cold  water  and  dress- 
ing we  tiptoed  downstairs.  Going  to  the  kitchen,  we 
kindled  a  fire  in  order  to  get  a  bit  of  breakfast  before 
we  started.  Theodora  had  heard  us  and  came  hastily 
down  to  bear  a  hand.  She  guessed  what  we  meant 
to  do. 

"  I'm  glad  you're  going,"  said  she  as  she  began  to 
make  coffee  and  to  warm  some  food. 

It  was  partly  the  bitter  weather,  I  think,  but  Addi- 
son and  I  felt  so  cross  that  we  could  hardly  trust  our- 
selves to  speak. 

"  I'll  put  you  up  a  nice,  big  lunch,"  Theodora  said, 
trying  to  cheer  us.  "  And  I  do  hope  that  you  will  find 
him  at  the  Old  Slave's  Farm,  or  over  at  Adger's  camp. 
If  you  do,  you  may  all  be  back  by  night." 

She  stole  up  to  her  room  to  get  a  pair  of  new  double 
mittens  that  she  had  just  finished  knitting  for  Addi- 
son; and  for  me  she  brought  down  a  woolen  neck 
muffler  that  grandmother  had  knitted  for  her.  Life 
brightens  up,  even  in  a  Maine  winter,  with  a  girl  like 
that  round. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    289 

Addison  took  his  shotgun,  and  I  carried  the  basket 
of  luncheon.  No  snow  had  come  since  Halstead  and 
Alfred  left,  and  we  could  still  see  along  the  old  lumber 
road  the  faint  marks  of  their  hand-sled  runners.  In 
the  hollows  where  the  film  of  snow  was  a  little  deeper, 
two  boot  tracks  were  visible. 

"  Halse  wouldn't  go  off  far  into  the  woods  alone, 
after  Alf  left  him,"  said  I. 

"  No,  he  is  too  big  a  coward,"  said  Addison. 

It  was  thirteen  miles  up  to  the  Old  Slave's  Farm, 
where  the  negro — who  called  himself  Pinkney  Doman 
— had  lived  for  so  many  years  before  the  Civil  War. 

"  We  can  make  it  in  three  hours ! "  Addison  ex- 
claimed. "If  we  find  him  there,  we  shall  be  back  be- 
fore dark.  And  we  had  better  hurry,"  he  added,  with 
a  glance  at  the  sky.  "  For  I  guess  there's  a  storm 
coming;  feels  like  it." 

In  a  yellow-birch  top  at  a  little  opening  near*  the 
old  road  we  saw  two  partridges  eating  buds ;  Addison 
shot  one  of  them  and  took  it  along,  slung  to  his  gun 
barrel. 

The  faint  trail  of  the  sled  continued  along  the  old 
winter  road  all  the  way  up  to  the  clearing  where  the 
negro  had  lived,  and  by  ten  o'clock  we  came  into  view 
of  the  two  log  cabins.  Very  still  and  solitary  they 
looked  under  that  cold  gray  sky. 

"  No  smoke,"  Addison  said.  "  But  we'll  soon 
know."  He  called  once.  We  then  hurried  forward 
and  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  larger  cabin.  No  one 
was  there. 

But  clearly  the  two  truants  had  stopped  there,  for 
the  sled  track  led  directly  to  the  door  of  the  cabin. 
There  had  been  a  fire  in  the  stone  fireplace.  Beside  a 
log  at  the  door,  too,  Addison  espied  a  hatchet  that  a 
while  before  we  had  missed  from  the  tool  bench  in  the 
wagon-house. 

"  Well,  if  that  isn't  like  their  carelessness !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, laughing.  "  I'll  take  this  along." 


290    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

But  the  runaways  had  not  tarried  long.  We  found 
the  sled  track  again,  leading  into  the  woods  at  the 
northwest  of  the  clearing. 

"Well,  that  settles  it,"  said  Addison.  "They 
haven't  gone  to  Adger's,  for  that  is  east  from  here. 
I'll  tell  you!  They  went  to  Boundary  Camp  on 
Lurvey's  Stream.  And  that's  eighteen  or  nineteen 
miles  from  here."  He  glanced  at  the  sky.  "  Now, 
what  shall  we  do?  It  will  snow  to-night." 

"  Perhaps  we  could  get  up  there  by  dark,"  said  I. 

For  a  moment  Addison  considered.  "  All  right ! " 
he  exclaimed.  "  It's  a  long  jaunt.  But  come  on !  " 

On  we  tramped  again,  following  that  will-o'-the- 
wisp  of  a  hand-sled  track  into  the  thick  spruce  forest. 
For  the  first  nine  or  ten  miles  everything  went  well; 
then  one  of  the  dangers  of  the  great  Maine  woods  in 
winter  suddenly  presented  itself. 

About  one  o'clock  it  began  to  snow — little  icy  pellets 
that  rattled  down  through  the  tree  tops  like  fine  shot  or 
sifted  sand.  The  chill,  damp  wind  sighing  drearily 
across  the  forest  presaged  a  northeaster. 

"  We've  got  to  hurry ! "  Addison  said,  glancing 
round. 

We  both  struck  into  a  trot  and,  with  our  eyes 
fastened  to  the  trail,  ran  on  for  about  two  miles  until 
we  came  to  a  brook  down  in  a  gorge.  By  the  time  we 
had  crossed  that  the  storm  was  upon  us  and  the  forest 
had  taken  on  the  bewildering  misty,  gray  look  that 
even  the  most  experienced  woodsman  has  reason  to 
dread. 

The  snow  that  had  fallen  had  obscured  the  faint  sled 
tracks,  and  Addison,  who  was  ahead,  pulled  up.  "  We 
can't  do  it,"  he  said.  "  We  shan't  get  through." 

My  first  impulse  was  to  run  on,  to  run  faster ;  that 
is  always  your  first  instinct  in  such  cases.  Then  I  re- 
membered the  old  Squire's  advice  to  us  what  to  do  if 
we  should  ever  happen  to  be  caught  by  a  snowstorm  in 
the  great  woods : 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    291 

"  Don't  go  on  a  moment  after  you  feel  bewildered. 
Don't  start  to  run,  and  don't  get  excited.  Stop  right 
where  you  are  and  camp.  If  you  run,  you  will  begin 
to  circle,  get  crazy  and  perish  before  morning." 

Addison  cast  another  uneasy  glance  into  the  dim 
forest  ahead.  "  Better  camp,  I  guess,"  he  said.1  Turn- 
ing, we  hurried  back  into  the  hollow. 

A  few  yards  back  from  the  brook  were  two  rocks, 
about  six  feet  apart  and  nearly  as  high  as  my  head. 
Hard  snow  lay  between  them;  but  we  broke  it  into 
pieces  by  stamping  on  it,  and  succeeded  in  clearing 
most  of  it  away,  so  that  we  bared  the  leaves  and  twigs 
that  covered  the  ground.  Then,  while  I  hacked  off  dry 
branches  from  a  fallen  fir-tree,  Addison  gathered  a 
few  curled  rolls  of  bark  from  several  birches  near  by 
and  kindled  a  fire  between  the  rocks. 

We  kept  the  fire  going  for  more  than  an  hour,  until 
all  the  remaining  snow  was  thawed  and  the  frost  and 
wet  thoroughly  dried  out,  and  until  the  rocks  had  be- 
come so  hot  that  we  could  hardly  touch  them.  Then, 
after  hauling  away  the  brands  and  embers,  we  brushed 
the  place  clean  with  green  boughs,  and  thus  made  for 
ourselves  a  warm,  dry  spot  between  the  rocks. 

With  poles  and  green  boughs,  we  made  for  our 
shelter  a  roof  that  was  tight  enough  to  keep  out  the 
snow.  Except  that  we  made  a  little  mat  of  bark  and 
dry  fir  brush,  to  lie  on,  and  that  Addison  brought  an 
armful  of  curled  bark  from  the  birches  and  a  quantity 
of  dry  sticks  to  burn  now  and  then,  that  was  the  extent 
of  our  preparation  for  the  night.  We  had  as  warm 
and  comfortable  a  den  as  any  one  could  wish  for. 

We  decided  not  to  cook  our  partridge,  but  to  eat  the 
food  in  our  basket.  After  our  meal  we  got  a  drink  of 
water  at  the  brook,  then  crawled  inside  our  den  and — 
as  Maine  woodsmen  say — "  pulled  the  hole  in  after 
us/'  by  stopping  it  with  boughs. 

"  Now,  let  it  storm !  "  Addison  exclaimed. 

Taking  off  our  jackets  and  spreading  them  over  us, 


292    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

we  cuddled  down  there  by  the  warm  rocks,  and  there 
we  passed  the  night  safely  and  by  no  means  uncom- 
fortably. 

It  was  still  snowing  fast  in  the  morning;  but  the 
flakes  were  larger  now,  and  the  weather  had  per- 
ceptibly moderated  during  the  latter  part  of  the  night. 
The  forest,  however,  still  looked  too  misty  for  us  to 
find  our  way  through  it. 

u  We  might  as  well  take  it  easy,"  Addison  said. 
"If  Halse  is  at  Boundary  Camp,  he  will  not  leave  in 
such  weather  as  this." 

All  that  forenoon  it  snowed  steadily,  and  in  fact  for 
most  of  the  afternoon.  More  than  a  foot  of  snow  had 
come.  We  opened  the  front  of  our  snow-coated  den, 
kindled  a  fire  there,  and  after  dressing  our  partridge 
broiled  it  over  the  embers.  Still  it  snowed ;  but  the 
weather  now  was  much  warmer.  By  the  following 
morning,  we  thought,  we  should  have  clear,  cold 
weather  and  should  be  able  to  set  out  again. 

But  never  were  weather  predictions  more  at  fault. 
The  next  morning  it  was  raining  furiously;  and  our 
den  had  begun  to  drip.  In  fact,  a  veritable  January 
thaw  had  set  in. 

All  that  forenoon  it  poured  steadily;  and  water 
began  to  show  yellow  through  the  snow  in  the  brook 
beside  our  camp.  Addison  crept  out  and  looked  round, 
but  soon  came  back  dripping  wet. 

"  Look  here !  "  said  he  in  some  excitement.  "  There's 
a  freshet  coming,  and  Lurvey's  Stream  is  between  us 
and  Boundary  Camp.  If  we  don't  start  soon,  we  can't 
get  there  at  all." 

Just  as  he  finished  speaking  a  deep,  portentous  rum- 
bling began  and  continued  for  several  seconds.  The 
distant  mountain  sides  seemed  to  reverberate  with  it, 
and  at  the  end  the  whole  forest  shook  with  heavjy, 
jarring  sounds.  We  both  leaped  out  into  the  rain. 

"What  is  it,  Ad?"  I  cried. 

"  Earthquake,"  said  Addison  at  last.    "  I've  heard 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    29S 

the  old  Squire  say  that  one  sometimes  comes  in  Maine, 
when  there  is  a  great  winter  thaw." 

The  deep  jar  and  tremor  gave  us  a  strange  sense  of 
insecurity  and  terror;  there  seemed  to  be  no  telling 
what  might  happen  next.  Accordingly,  we  abandoned 
our  moist  den  and  set  off  in  the  rain.  We  went  half- 
way to  our  knees  at  every  step  in  the  now  soft,  slushy 
snow.  Addison  went  ahead  with  the  hatchet,  spotting 
a  tree  every  hundred  feet  or  so,  and  I  followed  in  his 
tracks,  carrying  the  basket  and  the  gun.  In  fifteen 
minutes  we  were  wet  to  our  skins. 

For  three  or  four  miles  we  were  uncertain  of  oui 
course.  The  forest  then  lightened  ahead,  and  presently 
we  came  out  on  the  shore  of  a  small  lake  that  looked 
yellow  over  its  whole  surface. 

"  Good !  "  Addison  exclaimed.  "  This  must  be  Lone 
Pond,  and  see,  away  over  there  is  Birchboard  Moun- 
tain. Boundary  Camp  is  just  this  side  of  it.  It  can't 
be  more  than  four  or  five  miles." 

Skirting  the  south  shore  of  the  pond,  we  pushed  on 
through  fir  and  cedar  swamps.  Worse  traveling  it 
would  be  impossible  to  imagine.  Every  hole  and 
hollow  was  full  of  yellow  slush.  Finally,  after  an- 
other two  hours  or  so  of  hard  going,  we  came  out  on 
Lurvey's  Stream  about  half  a  mile  below  the  camp, 
which  was  on  the  other  bank.  A  foot  or  more  of 
water  was  running  yellow  over  the  ice;  but  the  ice 
itself  was  still  firm,  and  we  were  able  to  cross  on  it. 

Even  before  we  came  in  sight  of  the  camp,  we 
smelled  wood  smoke. 

"  Halse  is  there !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  It  may  be  trappers  from  over  the  line,"  Addison 
said.  "  Be  cautious." 

I  ran  forward,  however,  and  peeped  in  at  the  little 
window.  Some  one  was  crawling  on  the  floor, 
partly  behind  the  old  camp  stove,  and  I  had  to  look 
twice  before  I  could  make  out  that  it  was  really  Hal- 
stead.  Then  we  burst  in  upon  him,  and  Addison  said 


294    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

rather  shortly,  "  Well,  hunter,  what  are  you  doing 
here?" 

Halstead  raised  himself  slowly  off  the  floor  beside 
the  stove,  stared  at  us  for  a  moment  without  saying  a 
word,  and  then  suddenly  burst  into  tears ! 

It  was  some  moments  before  Halstead  could  speak, 
he  was  so  shaken  with  sobs.  We  then  discovered  that 
his  left  leg  was  virtually  useless,  and  that  in  general  he 
was  in  a  bad  plight.  He  had  been  there  for  eight  days 
in  that  condition,  crawling  round  on  one  knee  and  his 
hands  to  keep  a  fire  and  to  cook  his  food. 

"  But  how  did  you  get  hurt?  "  Addison  asked. 

"  That  Alf  did  it !  "  Halstead  cried ;  and  then,  with 
tears  still  flowing,  he  went  on  to  tell  the  story — his 
side  of  it. 

While  getting  their  breakfast  on  the  third  morning 
after  they  had  reached  the  camp,  they  had  had  a  dis- 
pute about  making  their  coffee;  hard  names  had  fol- 
lowed, and  at  last,  in  high  temper,  Alfred  had  sprung 
up  declaring  that  he  would  not  camp  with  Halstead 
another  hour.  Grabbing  the  gun,  he  had  started  off. 

"  That's  my  gun!  Leave  it  here!  Drop  it!  "  Hal- 
stead  had  shouted  angrily  and  had  run  after  him. 

Down  near  the  bank  of  the  stream,  Halstead  had 
overtaken  him  and  had  tried  to  wrest  the  gun  from 
him.  Alfred  had  turned,  struck  him,  and  then  given 
him  so  hard  a  push  that  he  had  fallen  over  sidewise 
with  his  foot  down  between  two  logs.  Alfred  had  run 
on  without  even  looking  back. 

The  story  did  not  astonish  us.  For  the  time  being, 
however,  we  were  chiefly  concerned  to  find  out  how 
badly  Halstead  was  injured,  with  a  view  to  getting 
him  home.  His  ankle  was  swollen,  sore  and  painful ; 
he  could  not  touch  the  foot  to  the  floor,  and  he  howled 
when  we  tried  to  move  it. 

Evidently  he  had  suffered  a  good  deal,  and  pity  pre- 
vented us  from  freeing  our  minds  to  him  as  fully  as 
we  should  otherwise  have  done.  The  main  thing  now 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    295 

was  to  get  him  home,  where  a  doctor  could  attend 
him. 

"  We  shall  have  to  haul  him  on  the  hand  sled," 
Addison  said  to  me;  and  fortunately  the  sled  that 
Alfred  and  he  had  taken  was  there  at  the  camp. 

But  first  we  cooked  a  meal  of  some  of  the  beef,  corn 
meal  and  coffee  they  had  taken  from  the  old  Squire's. 

It  was  still  raining;  and  on  going  out  an  hour  later 
we  found  that  the  stream  had  risen  so  high  that  we 
could  not  cross  it.  The  afternoon,  too,  was  waning; 
and,  urgent  as  Halstead's  case  appeared,  we  had  to 
give  up  the  idea  of  starting  that  night.  During  the 
rest  of  the  afternoon  we  busied  ourselves  rigging  a 
rude  seat  on  the  sled. 

There  were  good  dry  bunks  at  the  camp,  but  little 
sleep  was  in  store  for  us.  Halstead  was  in  a  fevered, 
querulous  mood  and  kept  calling  to  us  for  something 
or  other  all  night  long.  Whenever  he  fell  asleep  he 
tumbled  about  and  hurt  his  ankle.  That  would  partly 
wake  him  and  set  him  crying,  or  shouting  what  he 
would  do  to  Alfred. 

Throughout  the  night  the  roar  of  the  stream  outside 
grew  louder,  and  at  daybreak  it  was  running  feather 
white.  As  for  the  snow,  most  of  it  had  disappeared ; 
stumps,  logs  and  stones  showed  through  it  every- 
where; the  swamps  were  flooded,  and  every  hole, 
hollow  and  depression  was  full  of  water. 

That  was  Wednesday.  We  made  a  soup  of  the  beef 
bone,  cooked  johnnycake  from  the  corn  meal  and  kept 
Halstead  as  quiet  as  possible.  We  had  left  home  early 
Sunday  morning  and  knew  that  our  folks  would  be 
greatly  worried  about  all  three  of  us. 

As  the  day  passed,  the  stream  rose  steadily  until  the 
water  was  nearly  up  to  the  camp  door. 

"  If  only  we  had  a  boat,  we  could  put  Halse  in  it  and 
go  home,"  Addison  said. 

We  discussed  making  a  raft,  for  if  we  could  navi- 
gate the  stream  we  could  descend  it  to  within  four 


296    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

miles  of  the  old  farm.  But  the  roaring"  yellow  torrent 
was  clearly  so  tumultuous  that  no  raft  that  we  could 
build  would  hold  together  for  a  minute;  and  we  re- 
signed ourselves  to  pass  another  night  in  the  camp. 

The  end  of  the  thaw  was  at  hand,  however ;  at  sun- 
set the  sky  lightened,  and  during  the  evening  the  stars 
came  out.  At  midnight,  while  replenishing  the  fire,  I 
heard  smart  gusts  of  wind  blowing  from  the  north- 
west. It  was  clearing  off  cold.  Noticing  that  it  seemed 
very  light  outside,  I  went  to  the  door  and  saw  the  bright 
arch  of  a  splendid  aurora  spanning  the  whole  sky.  It 
was  so  beautiful  that  I  waked  Addison  to  see  it. 

By  morning  winter  weather  had  come  again;  the 
snow  slush  was  frozen.  The  stream,  however,  was  still 
too  high  to  be  crossed,  and  the  swamps  and  meadows 
were  also  impassable.  We  now  bethought  ourselves  of 
another  route  home,  by  way  of  a  lumber  trail  that  led 
southward  to  Lurvey's  Mills,  where  there  was  a  bridge 
over  the  stream. 

"  It  is  five  miles  farther,  but  it  is  our  only  chance  of 
getting  home  this  week,"  Addison  said. 

We  were  busy  bundling  Halstead  up  for  the  sled 
trip  when  the  door  opened  and  in  stepped  Asa  Doane, 
one  of  our  hired  men  at  the  farm,  and  a  neighbor 
named  Davis. 

"  Well,  well,  here  you  are,  then !  "  Asa  exclaimed  in 
a  tone  of  great  relief.  "  Do  you  know  that  the  old 
Squire's  got  ten  men  out  searching  the  woods  for  you  ? 
Why,  the  folks  at  home  are  scared  half  to  death !  " 

We  were  not  sorry  to  see  Asa  and  Davis,  and  to 
have  help  for  the  long  pull  homeward.  We  made  a 
start,  and  after  a  very  hard  tramp  we  finally  reached 
the  old  farm,  thoroughly  tired  out,  at  eight  o'clock 
that  evening. 

Theodora  and  grandmother  were  so  affected  at  see- 
ing us  back  that  they  actually  shed  tears.  The  old 
Squire  said  little;  but  it  was  plain  to  see  that  he  was 
greatly  relieved. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    297 

If  the  day  had  been  a  fatiguing  one  for  us,  it  had 
been  doubly  so  for  poor  Halstead.  We  carried  him  up 
to  his  room,  put  him  to  bed  and  sent  for  a  doctor.  He 
did  not  leave  his  room  again  for  three  weeks  and  re- 
quired no  end  of  care  from  grandmother  and  the  girls. 

Little  was  ever  said  among  us  afterwards  of  this 
escapade  of  Halstead's.  As  for  Alfred,  he  came 
sneaking  home  about  a  month  later,  but  had  the 
decency,  or  perhaps  it  was  the  prudence,  to  keep  away 
from  us  for  nearly  a  year. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

UNCLE   BILLY    MURCH'S    HAIR-RAISER 

AT  about  this  time  Tom  and  I  were  up  at  the 
JL±  Murches'  one  evening  to  see  Willis,  and  per- 
suaded old  Uncle  Billy,  Willis'  grandfather,  to 
tell  us  his  panther  story  again.  That  panther  story 
was  a  veritable  hair-raiser;  and  we  were  never  tired 
of  hearing  the  old  man  tell  it.  Owing  to  our  severe 
climate  panthers  were  never  very  numerous  in  northern 
New  England — not  nearly  so  numerous  as  panther 
stories,  in  which  the  "  panther  "is  usually  a  Canadian 
lynx.  Even  at  present  we  occasionally  hear  of  a  cata- 
mount or  an  "  Indian  devil  " ;  but  perhaps  the  last  real 
panther  was  trapped  and  shot  in  the  town  of  Wards- 
boro,  Vermont,  in  1875.  There  can  be  no  doubt  what- 
ever that  it  was  a  genuine  panther,  for  its  skin  and 
bones,  handsomely  mounted,  as  taxidermists  say,  can 
be  seen  at  any  time  in  the  Museum  of  Natural  History 
in  Boston.  It  is  a  fine  specimen  of  the  New  England 
variety  of  the  Felis  concolor  and  would  no  doubt  have 
proved  an  ugly  customer  to  meet  on  a  dark  night. 

No  doubt  there  were  panthers  larger  than  that  one. 
According  to  Uncle  Billy  the  Wardsboro  panther  was  a 
mere  kitten  to  the  one  that  he  once  encountered  when 
he  was  a  boy  of  fourteen.  Our  old  Squire,  who  then 
was  fifteen  years  old,  was  with  him  and  shared  the  ex- 
perience. But  try  as  we  would,  we  never  could  induce 
him  to  tell  the  story.  "  You  get  Uncle  Billy  Murch  to 
tell  you  about  that,"  he  would  say  and  laugh.  "  That's 
Uncle  Billy's  story ;  he  tells  it  a  little  better  every  time, 
and  he  has  got  that  catamount  so  large  now  that  I  am 
beginning  to  think  that  it  must  have  been  a  survival  of 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    299 

the  cave  tiger."  Yet  when  pinned  down  to  it  the  old 
Squire  admitted  that  he  was  with  Grandsir  Billy  on 
that  night  and  that  they  did  have  an  alarming  experi- 
ence with  an  animal  that  beyond  doubt  was  a  large  and 
hungry  panther. 

I  must  have  heard  the  story  ten  or  twelve  times  in 
all,  and  I  recollect  many  of  Grandsir  Billy's  words  and 
expressions.  But  the  old  man's  vocabulary  was  "  pic- 
turesque " ;  when  he  was  describing  exciting  events  he 
was  apt  to  drift  into  language  that  was  more  forceful 
than  choice.  It  will  be  best  therefore  to  give  this  ac- 
count substantially  as  years  later — long  after  Grandsir 
Billy  had  passed  away — the  old  Squire  told  it  one 
afternoon  when  he  and  I  were  driving  home  together 
from  a  field  day  of  the  grange. 

It  seems  that  back  in  the  days  when  the  county  was 
first  settled  the  pioneers  found  the  ponds  and  streams 
in  peaceful  possession  of  an  ancient  trapper  whom 
they  called  Daddy  Goss.  Trapping  was  his  business; 
he  did  nothing  else.  Every  fall  and  winter  while  he 
was  tending  his  trap  lines  he  used  to  stay  for  a  week  or 
a  month  at  a  time  at  the  settlers'  houses.  Frequently 
the  wife  of  a  settler  at  whose  house  he  was  staying 
would  have  to  take  drastic  measures  to  get  rid  of  him ; 
no  gentler  measures  than  taking  his  chair  and  his  plate 
away  from  the  table  or  putting  his  bundle  of  things  out 
on  the  doorstep  would  move  him.  "  As  slow  to  take 
the  hint  as  old  Daddy  Goss,"  came  to  be  a  local 
proverb. 

One  December  while  he  was  staying  at  the  Murch 
farm  he  fell  sick  with  a  heavy  cold,  and  while  he  lay  in 
bed  he  fretted  constantly  about  his  traps.  At  last  he 
offered  Billy  Murch,  who  was  then  fourteen  years  old, 
half  of  all  the  animals  that  might  be  in  them  if  he 
would  go  out  and  fetch  them  home.  The  line  of  traps, 
he  said,  began  at  a  large  pine-tree  near  the  head  of 
Stoss  Pond  and  thence  extended  round  about  through 
the  then  unbroken  forest  for  a  distance  of  perhaps 


300    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

fifteen  miles  to  a  birch-bark  camp  on  Lurvey's  Stream 
that  the  old  trapper  had  built  to  shelter  himself  from 
storms  two  years  before. 

Billy  wanted  to  go  but  his  mother  would  not  consent 
to  his  going  alone.  So  he  talked  the  matter  over  with 
the  old  Squire,  who  was  a  year  older  than  Billy,  and 
offered  him  half  the  profits  if  he  would  accompany 
him ;  and  the  result  was  that  the  two  boys  took  the  old 
man's  flintlock  gun  and  set  off  at  daylight  the  follow- 
ing morning.  They  were  not  to  stop  to  skin  any 
animals  that  they  found  in  the  traps,  but  were  to  make 
bunches  of  them  and  carry  them  home  on  their  backs. 
The  old  trapper  would  not  trust  them  either  to  skin  the 
catch  or  to  reset  the  traps.  Since  there  were  only  two 
or  three  inches  of  snow  on  the  ground,  they  did  not 
have  to  use  snowshoes  and  hoped  therefore  that  they 
should  return  by  evening.  They  found  the  first  trap 
on  Stoss  Pond  and  from  there  followed  the  line  with- 
out much  difficulty,  for  Daddy  Goss  had  made  a  trail 
by  spotting  trees  with  his  hatchet.  Moreover,  the 
marten  traps  were  "  boxed "  into  spruce-trees  at  a 
height  of  two  or  three  feet  from  the  ground  and  could 
easily  be  seen. 

There  is  an  old  saying  among  trappers  that  nothing 
catches  game  like  a  neglected  trap;  and  that  time  at 
least  the  adage  was  correct.  The  boys  found  a  marten 
in  the  second  trap  and  found  others  at  frequent  inter- 
vals. What  was  remarkable,  they  found  three  minks, 
two  ermines  and  a  fisher  in  traps  on  high,  hilly  forest 
land.  I  think  the  old  Squire  once  said  that  they  took 
nineteen  martens  from  the  traps,  of  which  there  were 
one  hundred  and  two. 

The  boys  soon  found  themselves  loaded  down  with 
fur.  Since  they  were  to  have  half  of  what  they 
brought  home,  they  did  not  like  to  leave  anything. 
So  with  an  ever  increasing  burden  on  their  backs  they 
toiled  on  from  trap  to  trap.  Before  night  each  was 
carrying  at  least  forty  and  perhaps  fifty  pounds.  They 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    301 

had  brought  thongs  for  tying  the  animals  together. 
Billy  carried  his  bunch  slung  over  the  stock  of  the  gun, 
which  he  carried  over  his  shoulder.  His  comrade 
carried  his  on  a  short  pole.  A  good  many  of  the 
martens  were  still  alive  in  the  traps  and  had  to  be 
knocked  on  the  head;  the  blood  from  them  dripped 
from  the  packs  on  the  snow  behind. 

Fifteen  miles  is  a  long  tramp  for  boys  of  their  age, 
and,  since  December  days  are  short,  it  is  not  astonish- 
ing that  the  afternoon  had  waned  and  the  sun  set  be- 
fore they  reached  the  birch-bark  camp.  From  that 
place  they  would  have  to  descend  Lurvey's  Stream  for 
two  or  three  miles  to  Lurvey's  Mills,  and  then  reach 
home  by  way  of  a  wagon  road.  Dusk  falls  rapidly  in 
the  woods.  By  the  time  they  reached  the  camp  they 
could  barely  see  the  "  blazes  "  on  the  tree  trunks. 
They  decided  to  kindle  a  fire  and  remain  at  the  camp 
till  the  next  morning.  Each  began  at  once  to  collect 
dry  branches  and  bark  from  the  white  birch-trees  that 
grew  along  the  stream. 

It  was  not  until  then  that  Billy  made  a  bad  discovery. 
In  those  days  there  were  no  matches;  for  kindling  a 
fire  pioneers  depended  on  igniting  a  little  powder  and 
tow  in  the  pans  of  their  flintlocks.  But  when  Billy  un- 
slung  his  pack  of  martens  from  the  stock  of  the  gun  he 
found  that  the  thong  had  somehow  loosened  the  flint  in 
the  lock  and  that  it  had  dropped  out  and  was  lost. 
Both  boys  were  discouraged,  for  the  night  was  chilly. 
They  crept  inside  the  camp,  which  was  barely  large 
enough  to  hold  two  persons.  It  was  merely  a  boxlike 
structure  only  six  feet  square  and  five  feet  high ;  sheets 
of  bark  from  the  large  white  birch-trees  were  tied  with 
small,  flexible  spruce  roots  to  the  frame,  which  was  of 
light  poles.  The  door  was  a  small  square  sheet  of  bark 
bound  to  a  little  frame  that  would  open  and  shut  on 
curious  wooden  hinges.  Though  the  camp  was  frail, 
it  kept  off  the  wind  and  was  slightly  warmer  than  it 
was  outside.  The  boys  found  a  couch  of  dry  fir 


302    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

boughs  inside,  but  the  only  cover  for  it  was  a  dried 
deerskin  and  one  of  Daddy  Goss's  old  coats. 

Meanwhile  full  darkness  had  fallen ;  and  there  would 
be  no  moon  till  late  at  night.  An  owl  came  circling 
round  and  whoop-hooed  dismally.  Billy  said  that  he 
wished  he  were  at  home,  and  his  companion  admitted 
that  he  wished  he  were  there  also.  They  closed  the 
door  and  then,  lying  down  as  close  together  as  they 
could,  put  the  two  bunches  of  fur  at  their  feet  and 
covered  themselves  with  the  old  coat  and  the  deer  hide. 
But  they  had  scarcely  lain  down  when  crashes  in  the 
underbrush  startled  them,  and  they  heard  a  great  noise 
as  of  a  herd  of  cattle  running  past.  The  old  Squire 
peeped  out  at  the  door.  "  I  guess  it's  deer/'  he  said. 
"  Something's  scared  them." 

He  lay  down  again;  but  a  few  minutes  later  they 
heard  what  sounded  like  a  shriek  a  long  way  off  up  the 
stream.  Billy  started  up.  "  Now  what  do  you  s'pose 
that  was,  Joe  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  i_i  don't  know." 

"  It  sounded,"  said  Billy,  "  just  as  the  schoolmistress 
did  when  she  stepped  on  a  snake  last  summer." 

They  sat  up  to  listen;  pretty  soon  they  heard  the 
noise  again,  this  time  much  nearer. 

"  It's  coming  this  way,  Joe ! "  Billy  whispered. 
"  What  do  you  s'pose  it  is  ?  " 

They  continued  to  listen,  and  soon  they  heard  a 
short,  ugly  shriek  close  by  in  the  woods. 

"  Joe,  I'm  afraid  that's  a  catamount,"  Billy  said 
unsteadily. 

The  old  Squire  picked  up  the  useless  gun  and  sat 
with  it  in  his  hands.  For  some  time  there  were  no 
more  outcries ;  but  after  a  while  they  heard  the  crum- 
pling of  snow  and  the  snapping  of  twigs  behind  the 
camp.  Some  large  animal  was  walking  round ;  several 
times  they  heard  the  sough  of  its  breath. 

"  Joe,  I'm  scared !  "  Billy  whispered. 

The  old  Squire  was  frightened  also,  but  he  opened 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    303 

the  door  a  crack  and  peered  out.  On  the  snow  under 
the  birch-trees  he  could  distinguish  the  dark  form  of  a 
large  panther.  It  had  seen  the  door  move  and  had 
crouched  as  if  to  spring.  He  saw  the  flash  of  two  fiery 
eyes  in  the  dim  light  and  again  heard  the  sough  of  the 
creature's  breath  before  he  clapped  the  door  shut  and 
braced  the  gun  against  it.  But  he  had  no  confidence  in 
the  flimsy  birch  bark;  so  he  got  out  his  jackknife  and 
bade  Billy  get  out  his.  It  did  not  occur  to  them  that 
the  panther  had  scented  the  freshly  killed  game  and 
had  followed  the  trail  of  it. 

The  boys  passed  dreadful  hours  of  suspense  during 
that  long,  cold  December  night.  More  than  once  they 
heard  the  creature  "  sharpen  its  claws  "  on  tree  trunks, 
and  the  sound  was  by  no  means  cheerful.  The  brute 
seemed  bent  on  remaining1  near  the  little  camp.  I 
remember  that  Grandsir  Billy  said  that  they  heard  it 
"  garp  "  several  times ;  I  suppose  he  meant  yawn.  The 
circumstance  seems  rather  strange.  He  said  that  it 
"  garped  "  like  a  big  dog  every  time  it  sharpened  its 
claws.  Yet  it  did  not  cease  to  watch  the  little  in- 
closure. 

At  last,  tired  with  watching  the  boys  fell  asleep,  a 
circumstance  that  is  not  strange  perhaps  when  you 
consider  they  had  plodded  fifteen  miles  that  day  and 
had  carried  heavy  loads. 

They  slept  for  some  time.  From  later  events  the 
boys  could  infer  what  took  place  outside  the  hut.  The 
late-rising  moon  swung  up  from  behind  the  dark  tree- 
tops.  The  panther  had  crept  to  within  a  few  feet  of 
the  shack.  Suddenly  it  crouched  and  sprang  upon  the 
roof  of  the  little  camp!  When  it  struck  the  flimsy 
roof,  the  boys  woke  up.  For  an  instant  the  whole  frail 
structure  shook;  then  it  reeled  and  partly  collapsed. 
The  boys  sprang  up,  and  as  they  did  so  a  big  paw  with 
claws  spread  burst  through  the  roof  and  came  down 
between  them!  The  claws  opened  and  closed  as  the 
paw  moved  to  and  fro.  Billy's  face  was  scratched 


304    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

slightly,  and  Joe's  jacket  was  ripped.  Joe  then  seized 
the  paw  with  both  hands  and  tried  to  hold  it.  The 
roof  swayed  and  trembled  and,  for  a  moment,  seemed 
about  to  fall ;  then  the  panther  withdrew  its  paw,  and 
the  boys  heard  the  creature  leap  off  and  bound  away. 

Hunters  say  that  if  a  panther  misses  its  first  spring 
it  will  not  try  again.  That  may  sometimes  be  true; 
but  in  this  case  the  panther  went  off  a  short  distance 
among  the  trees  and  after  a  few  minutes  crept  forward 
as  if  to  spring  again.  Terribly  excited,  the  boys  peered 
out  at  it  and  waited.  They  could  not  close  the  door 
of  the  camp.  The  whole  structure  had  lurched  to  one 
side,  and  several  sheets  of  bark  had  fallen  from  the 
light  frame.  Billy  wanted  to  rush  out  and  run,  but  his 
comrade,  fearful  lest  the  panther  should  chase  them, 
held  him  back. 

Now  for  the  first  time  it  occurred  to  Joe  that  he 
might  divert  the  creature's  attention  by  throwing  out 
some  of  the  dead  martens.  Cutting  one  of  them  loose, 
he  slung  it  as  far  as  he  could  into  the  woods.  Imme- 
diately the  panther  stole  forward,  seized  the  carcass  of 
the  little  animal  in  its  mouth  and  ran  off.  But  before 
long  it  returned,  and  then  Joe  threw  out  a  second 
marten,  which  the  panther  carried  off.  After  the  boys 
had  thrown  out  two  more  martens,  the  panther  did  not 
return,  and  they  saw  nothing  more  of  it.  As  soon  as 
day  dawned  they  crept  forth  from  their  shattered 
camp,  hastened  down  the  stream  and  reached  home 
with  their  trapped  animals. 

The  first  time  I  heard  Grandsir  Billy  tell  the  story  he 
said  that  the  panther  was  as  large  as  a  yearling  steer. 
Later  he  declared  that  it  was  the  size  of  a  two-year-old 
steer ;  and  I  have  frequently  heard  him  say  that  it  was 
as  large  as  a  three-year-old !  The  old  Squire  said  it 
was  as  large  as  the  largest  dog  he  ever  saw. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 
ADDISON'S  POCKETFUL  OF  AUGER  CHIPS 

ANOTHER  year  had  now  passed,  and  we  were  not 
much  nearer  realizing  our  plans  for  getting  an 
education  than  when  Master  Pierson  left  us  the 
winter  before. 

Owing  to  the  bad  times  and  a  close  money  market, 
lumbering  scarcely  more  than  paid  expenses  that 
winter.  This  and  the  loss  of  five  work-horses  the  pre- 
vious November,  put  such  stress  on  the  family  purse, 
that  we  felt  it  would  be  unkind  to  ask  the  old  Squire 
to  send  four  of  us  to  the  village  Academy  that  spring, 
as  had  been  planned. 

"  We  shall  have  to  wait  another  year,"  Theodora 
said  soberly. 

"  It  will  always  be  '  another  year  '  with  us,  I  guess ! " 
Ellen  exclaimed  sadly. 

But  during  March  that  spring,  a  shrewd  stroke  of 
mother  wit,  on  the  part  of  Addison,  greatly  relieved 
the  situation  and,  in  fact,  quite  set  us  on  our  feet  in  the 
matter  of  funds.  This,  however,  requires  a  bit  of 
explanation. 

For  fifty  years  grandsir  Cranston  had  lavished  his 
love  and  care  on  the  old  Cranston  farm,  situated  three 
miles  from  our  place.  He  had  been  born  there,  and  he 
had  lived  and  worked  there  all  his  life.  Year  by  year 
he  had  cleared  the  fields  of  stone  and  fenced  them  with 
walls.  The  farm  buildings  looked  neat  and  well-cared 
for.  The  sixty-acre  wood-lot  that  stretched  from  the 
fields  up  to  the  foot  of  Hedgehog  Ledge  had  been 
cleaned  and  cleared  of  undergrowth  until  you  could 
drive  a  team  from  end  to  end  of  it,  among  the  three 

305 


306    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

hundred  or  more  immense  old  sugar  maples  and  yellow 
birches. 

That  wood-lot,  indeed,  had  been  the  old  farmer's 
special  pride.  He  loved  those  big  old-growth  maples, 
loved  them  so  well  that  he  would  not  tap  them  in  the 
spring  for  maple  sugar.  It  shortened  the  lives  of 
trees,  he  said,  to  tap  them,  particularly  large  old  trees. 

It  was  therefore  distressing  to  see  how,  after  grand- 
sir  Cranston  died,  the  farm  was  allowed  to  run  down 
and  go  to  ruin.  His  wife  had  died  years  before;  they 
had  no  children ;  and  the  only  relatives  were  a  brother 
and  a  nephew  in  Portland,  and  a  niece  in  Bangor. 
Cranston  had  left  no  will.  The  three  heirs  could  not 
agree  about  dividing  the  property.  The  case  had  gone 
to  court  and  stayed  there  for  four  years. 

Meanwhile  the  farm  was  rented  first  to  one  and  then 
to  another  tenant,  who  cropped  the  fields,  let  weeds, 
briers,  and  bushes  grow,  neglected  the  buildings  and 
opened  unsightly  gaps  in  the  hitherto  tidy  stone  walls. 
The  taxes  went  unpaid;  none  of  the  heirs  would  pay  a 
cent  toward  them;  and  the  fifth  year  after  the  old 
farmer's  death  the  place  was  advertised  for  sale  at 
auction  for  delinquent  taxes. 

In  March  of  the  fifth  year  after  grandsir  Cranston 
died,  Willis  and  Ben  Murch  wrote  to  one  of  the 
Cranston  heirs,  and  got  permission  to  tap  the  maples  in 
the  wood-lot  at  the  foot  of  the  ledge  and  to  make  sugar 
there. 

They  tapped  two  hundred  trees,  three  spiles  to  the 
tree,  and  had  a  great  run  of  sap.  Addison  and  I  went 
over  one  afternoon  to  see  them  "  boil  down."  They 
had  built  an  "  arch  "  of  stones  for  their  kettles  up 
near  the  foot  of  the  great  ledge,  and  had  a  cosy  little 
shed  there.  Sap  was  running  well  that  day;  and  to- 
ward sunset,  since  they  had  no  team,  we  helped  them 
to  gather  the  day's  run  in  pails  by  hand.  It  was  no 
easy  task,  for  there  were  two  feet  or  more  of  soft  snow 
on  the  ground,  and  there  were  as  many  as  three  hun- 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    307 

dred  brimming  bucketf uls  that  had  to  be  carried  to  the 
sap  holders  at  the  shed. 

Several  times  I  thought  that  Addison  was  shirking. 
I  noticed  that  at  nearly  every  tree  he  stopped,  put  down 
his  sap  pails,  picked  up  a  handful  of  the  auger  chips 
that  lay  in  the  snow  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  and  stood 
there  turning  them  over  with  his  fingers.  The  boys 
had  used  an  inch  and  a  half  auger,  for  in  those  days 
people  thought  that  the  bigger  the  auger  hole  and  the 
deeper  they  bored,  the  more  sap  would  flow. 

"  Don't  hurry,  Ad,"  I  said,  smiling,  as  we  passed 
each  other.  "  The  snow's  soft !  Pails  of  sap  are 
heavy!" 

He  grinned,  but  said  nothing.  Afterward  I  saw 
him  slyly  slipping  hand f uls  of  those  chips  into  his 
pocket.  What  he  wanted  them  for  I  could  not  im- 
agine ;  and  later,  after  sunset,  as  we  were  going  home, 
I  asked  him  why  he  had  carried  away  a  pocketful  of 
auger  chips. 

He  looked  at  me  shrewdly,  but  would  not  reply. 
Then,  after  a  minute,  he  asked  me  whether  I  thought 
that  Ben  or  Willis  had  seen  him  pick  them  up. 

"What  if  they  did?"  I  asked.  But  I  could  get 
nothing  further  from  him. 

It  was  that  very  evening  I  think,  after  we  got  home, 
that  we  saw  the  notice  the  tax  collector  had  put  in  the 
county  paper  announcing  the  sale  at  public  auction  of 
the  Cranston  farm  on  the  following  Thursday,  for  de- 
linquent taxes.  The  paper  had  come  that  night,  and 
Theodora  read  the  notice  aloud  at  supper.  The  an- 
nouncement briefly  described  the  farm  property,  and 
among  other  values  mentioned  five  hundred  cords  of 
rock-maple  wood  ready  to  cut  and  go  to  market. 

"  That's  that  old  sugar  lot  up  by  the  big  ledge, 
where  Willis  and  Ben  were  making  syrup,"  said  I. 
"  Ad,  whatever  did  you  do  with  that  pocketful  of 
auger  chips  ?  " 

Addison  glanced  at  me  queerly.     He  seemed  dis- 


308    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

turbed,  but  said  nothing.  The  following  forenoon, 
when  he  and  I  were  making  a  hot-bed  for  early  garden 
vegetables,  he  remarked  that  he  meant  to  go  to  that 
auction. 

It  was  not  the  kind  of  auction  sale  that  draws  a 
crowd  of  people;  there  was  only  one  piece  of  property 
to  be  sold,  and  that  was  an  expensive  one.  Not  more 
than  twenty  persons  came  to  it — mostly  prosperous 
farmers  or  lumbermen,  who  intended  to  buy  the  place 
as  a  speculation  if  it  should  go  at  a  low  price.  The  old 
Squire  was  not  there ;  he  had  gone  to  Portland  the  day 
before;  but  Addison  went  over,  as  he  had  planned,  and 
Willis  Murch  and  I  went  with  him. 

Hilburn,  the  tax  collector,  was  there,  and  two  of  the 
selectmen  of  the  town,  besides  Cole,  the  auctioneer. 
At  four  o'clock  Hilburn  stood  on  the  house  steps,  read 
the  published  notice  of  the  sale  and  the  court  warrant 
for  it.  The  town,  he  said,  would  deduct  $114 — the 
amount  of  unpaid  taxes — from  the  sum  received  for 
the  farm.  Otherwise  the  place  would  be  sold  intact  to 
the  highest  bidder. 

The  auctioneer  then  mounted  the  steps,  read  the 
Cranston  warranty  deed  of  the  farm,  as  copied  from 
the  county  records,  describing  the  premises,  lines,  and 
corners.  "  A  fine  piece  of  property,  which  can  soon  be 
put  into  good  shape,"  he  added.  "  How  much  am  I 
offered  for  it?" 

After  a  pause,  Zachary  Lurvey,  the  owner  of  Lurvey's 
Lumber  Mills,  started  the  bidding  by  offering  $1,000. 

"  One  thousand  dollars,"  repeated  the  auctioneer. 
"  I  am  offered  one  thousand  dollars.  Of  course  that 
isn't  what  this  farm  is  really  worth.  Only  one  thou- 
sand !  Who  offers  more  ?  " 

"  Fifteen  hundred,"  said  a  man  named  Haines,  who 
had  arrived  from  the  southern  part  of  the  township 
while  the  deed  was  being  read. 

"  Sixteen,"  said  another :  and  presently  another  said, 
"  Seventeen ! 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    309 

I  noticed  that  Addison  was  edging  up  nearer  the 
steps,  but  I  was  amazed  to  hear  him  call  out,  "  Seven- 
teen fifty!" 

"  Ad!  "  I  whispered.  "  What  if  Cole  knocks  it  off 
to  you?  You  have  only  $100  in  the  savings  bank. 
You  couldn't  pay  for  it." 

I  thought  he  had  made  a  bid  just  for  fun,  or  to  show 
off.  Addison  paid  no  attention  to  me,  but  watched  the 
auctioneer  closely.  The  others,  too,  seemed  surprised 
at  Addison's  bid.  Lurvey  turned  and  looked  at  him 
sharply.  I  suppose  he  thought  that  Addison  was  bid- 
ding for  the  old  Squire ;  but  I  knew  that  the  old  Squire 
had  no  thought  of  buying  the  farm. 

After  a  few  moments  Lurvey  called,  "  Eighteen 
hundred!" 

"Eighteen  fifty,"  said  Addison;  and  now  I  grew 
uneasy  for  him  in  good  earnest. 

"  You  had  better  stop  that,"  I  whispered.  "  They'll 
get  it  off  on  to  you  if  you  don't  take  care."  And  I 
pulled  his  sleeve  impatiently. 

Willis  was  grinning  broadly;  he  also  thought  that 
Addison  was  blurring  the  other  bidders. 

Haines  then  said,  "  Nineteen  hundred  " ;  and  Lurvey 
at  once  cried,  "  Nineteen  twenty-five!  " 

It  was  now  apparent  that  Lurvey  meant  to  get  the 
farm  if  he  could,  and  that  Haines  also  wanted  it.  The 
auctioneer  glanced  toward  us.  Much  to  my  relief, 
Addison  now  backed  off  a  little,  as  if  he  had  made  his 
best  bid  and  was  going  away ;  but  to  my  consternation 
he  turned  when  near  the  gate  and  cried,  "  Nineteen 
fifty!" 

"  Are  you  crazy?  "  I  whispered,  and  tried  to  get  him 
to  leave.  He  backed  up  against  the  gatepost,  however, 
and  stood  there,  watching  the  auctioneer.  Lurvey 
looked  suspicious  and  disgruntled,  but  after  a  pause, 
said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Nineteen  seventy-five."  Haines 
then  raised  the  bid  to  $2,000,  and  the  auctioneer  re- 
peated that  offer  several  times.  We  thought  Haines 


310    A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

would  get  it ;  but  Lurvey  finally  cried,  "  Two  thousand 
twenty-five !  "  and  the  auctioneer  began  calling,  "  Go- 
ing— going — going  for  two  thousand  twenty-five !  " 
when  Addison  shouted,  "  Two  thousand  fifty !  " 

Lurvey  cast  an  angry  look  at  him.  Haines  turned 
away;  and  Cole,  after  waiting  for  further  bids,  cried, 
"  Going — going — gone  at  two  thousand  fifty  to  that 
young  man  by  the  gate — if  he  has  got  the  money  to 
pay  for  it! " 

'  You've  done  it  now,  Ad !  "  I  exclaimed,  in  distress. 
"  How  are  you  going  to  get  out  of  this  ?  " 

I  was  frightened  for  him ;  I  did  not  know  what  the 
consequences  of  his  prank  would  be.  To  my  surprise 
and  relief,  Addison  went  to  Hilburn  and  handed  him 
$100. 

"  I'll  pay  a  hundred  down,"  he  said,  "  to  bind  my 
bid,  and  the  balance  to-morrow." 

The  two  selectmen  and  Hilburn  smiled,  but  accepted 
it.  I  remembered  then  that  Addison  had  gone  to  the 
village  the  day  before,  and  guessed  that  he  had  drawn 
his  savings  from  the  bank.  But  I  did  not  see  how  he 
could  raise  $1,950  by  the  next  day.  All  the  way  home 
I  wanted  to  ask  him  what  he  planned  to  do.  How- 
ever, I  did  not  like  to  question  him  before  Willis  and 
two  other  boys  who  were  with  us.  All  the  way  home 
Addison  seemed  rather  excited. 

The  family  were  at  supper  when  we  went  in.  The 
old  Squire  was  back  from  Portland ;  grandmother  and 
the  girls  had  told  him  that  we  had  gone  to  the  auction. 
The  first  thing  he  did  was  to  ask  us  whether  the  farm 
had  been  sold,  and  how  much  it  had  brought. 

"  Two  thousand  and  fifty,"  said  I,  with  a  glance  at 
Addison. 

"  That's  all  it's  worth,"  the  old  Squire  said.  "  Who 
bought  it?" 

Addison  looked  embarrassed ;  and  to  help  him  out  I 
said  jocosely,  "  Oh,  it  was  bid  off  by  a  young  fellow 
we  saw  there." 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    311 

"  What  was  his  name  ?  "  the  old  Squire  asked  in 
surprise. 

"  He  spells  it  A-d-d-i-s-o-n,"  said  I. 

There  was  a  sudden  pause  round  the  table. 

"  Yes,"  I  continued,  laughing,  for  I  thought  the  best 
thing  for  Ad  was  to  have  the  old  Squire  know  the  facts 
at  once.  "  He  paid  $100  of  it  down,  and  he  has  to  get 
round  with  nineteen  hundred  and  fifty  more  by  to- 
morrow noon." 

Food  was  quite  forgotten  by  this  time.  The  old 
Squire,  grandmother,  and  the  girls  were  looking  at 
Addison  in  much  concern. 

"  Haven't  you  been  rather  rash  ?  "  the  old  Squire 
said,  gravely. 

"  Maybe  I  have,"  Addison  admitted.  "  But  the  bank 
has  promised  to  lend  me  the  money  to-morrow  at 
seven  per  cent,  if — if," — he  hesitated  and  reddened 
visibly, — "  if  you  will  put  your  name  on  the  note  with 
me,  sir." 

The  old  Squire's  face  was  a  study.  He  looked  sur- 
prised, grave,  and  stern;  but  his  kind  old  heart  stood 
the  test. 

"  My  son,"  he  said,  after  a  short  pause,  "  what  led 
you  into  this?  You  must  tell  me  before  we  go 
farther." 

"  It  was  something  I  noticed  over  there  in  that 
wood-lot.  I  haven't  said  anything  about  it  so  far ;  but 
I  think  I  am  right." 

He  went  upstairs  to  his  trunk  and  brought  down  a 
handful  of  those  auger  chips,  and  also  a  letter  that  he 
had  received  recently.  He  spread  the  chips  on  the  table 
by  the  old  Squire's  plate,  and  the  latter,  after  a  glance 
at  them,  put  on  his  reading  glasses.  Dry  as  the  chips 
had  become,  we  could  still  see  what  looked  like  tiny 
bubbles  and  pits  in  the  wood. 

"Bird's-eye,  isn't  it?"  the  old  Squire  said,  taking 
up  a  chip  in  his  fingers.  "  Bird's-eye  maple.  Was 
there  more  than  one  tree  of  this?  " 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S 

"  More  than  forty,  sir,  that  I  saw  myself,  and  I've 
no  doubt  there  are  others,"  Addison  replied. 

"  Ah !  "  the  old  Squire  exclaimed,  with  a  look  of  un- 
derstanding kindling  in  his  face.  "  I  see !  I  see !  " 

During  our  three  or  four  winters  at  the  old  Squire's 
we  boys  had  naturally  picked  up  considerable  knowl- 
edge about  lumber  and  lumber  values. 

"  Yes,"  Addison  said.  "  That's  why  I  planned  to  get 
hold  of  that  wood-lot.  I  wrote  to  Jones  &  Adams  to 
see  what  they  would  give  for  clear,  kiln-dried  bird's- 
eye  maple  lumber,  for  furniture  and  room  finish,  and 
in  this  letter  they  offer  $90  per  thousand.  I  haven't  a 
doubt  we  can  get  a  hundred  thousand  feet  of  bird's- 
eye  out  of  that  lot." 

"If  Lurvey  had  known  that,"  said  I,  "  he  wouldn't 
have  stopped  bidding  at  two  thousand !  " 

"  You  may  be  sure  he  wouldn't,"  the  old  Squire  re- 
marked, with  a  smile. 

"  As  for  the  quarreling  heirs,"  said  Addison, 
"  they'll  be  well  satisfied  to  get  that  much  for  the 
farm." 

The  next  day  the  old  Squire  accompanied  Addison 
to  the  savings  bank  and  indorsed  his  note.  The  bank 
at  once  lent  Addison  the  money  necessary  to  pay  for 
the  farm. 

No  one  learned  what  Addison's  real  motive  in  bid- 
ding for  the  farm  had  been  until  the  following  winter, 
when  we  cut  the  larger  part  of  the  maple-trees  in  the 
wood-lot  and  sawed  them  into  three-inch  plank  at  our 
own  mill.  Afterward  we  kiln-dried  the  plank,  and 
shipped  it  to  the  furniture  company. 

Out  of  the  three  hundred  or  more  sugar  maples  that 
we  cut  in  that  lot,  eighty-nine  proved  to  be  bird's-eye, 
from  which  we  realized  well  over  $7,000.  We  also  got 
$600  for  the  firewood ;  and  two  years  later  we  sold  the 
old  farm  for  $1,500,  making  in  all  a  handsome  profit. 
It  seemed  no  more  than  right  that  $3,000  of  it  should 
go  to  Addison. 


A  BUSY  YEAR  AT  THE  OLD  SQUIRE'S    313 

The  rest  of  us  more  than  half  expected  that  Addison 
would  retain  this  handsome  bonus,  and  use  it  wholly 
for  his  own  education,  since  the  fine  profit  we  had 
made  was  due  entirely  to  his  own  sagacity. 

But  no,  he  said  at  once  that  we  were  all  to  share  it 
with  him ;  and  after  thinking  the  matter  over,  the  old 
Squire  saw  his  way  clear  to  add  two  thousand  from  his 
share  of  the  profits. 

We  therefore  entered  on  our  course  at  the  Academy 
the  following  spring,  with  what  was  deemed  a  safe 
fund  for  future  expenses. 


THE   END. 


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